


Young, Dumb, & Broke

by AnxiousBich



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise, Alternate Universe - Prostitute Richie, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Because Eddie's mom, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Indulgent, They're in their early 20s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousBich/pseuds/AnxiousBich
Summary: Richie and Eddie have never met, but when they come together, Eddie has a strange request.





	1. Young

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I have a Tumblr now! Check it out and hit me up! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/anxiousbich
> 
> I thought of this last night and wrote it up. It's gonna be short and self indulgent but I hope you like it anyways. 
> 
> I just picked a song that I like and this worked so *shrug*
> 
> Why am I so bad at summaries and titles, seriously??
> 
> Plz comment and stuff
> 
> I shouldn't have to but I'm gonna just clarify now, 'Stan' in this chapter is Richie who is being a dick and using Stan's name as his fake name.

            Eddie wrings his hands in his lap nervously while he glances around the crowded park from where he’s sitting in the cleanest bench he could find. There are children running around a nearby playground and there are joggers in shorts running along the sidewalk circling the outer edge of the park. Every loud noise sends his heart jumping painfully in his chest. He jams his elbows into the top of his thighs, wrinkling his khakis, and shoves his face into his hands. What the _fuck_ is he doing here? How fucking _pathetic_ can he get? Jesus-

            “ **Christ**!” Eddie yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin when someone suddenly touches his shoulder. He stares up at an unfairly attractive man with wild black hair who’s looking back at him with wide surprised eyes. There’s a long moment where the stranger leaves his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and their eyes flicker over each other’s faces. Eddie notes freckles lining his nose, not as many as the explosion of freckles on his own face, but what Eddie could only call ‘the perfect amount’. There are two red indents on the sides of his nose that he recognizes as something commonly found on long term glasses wearers. The stranger’s lips are parted and Eddie can see a set of crooked buck teeth just visible and _fuck_ it just gives him a boyish charm that adds to his appeal and makes Eddie’s heart skip.

            The stranger is the first to recover from whatever _thing_ just transpired between them. He gives Eddie a disarming grin and Eddie has to remind himself that he can’t let his guard down for every pretty smile. “Jerry?” the stranger asks, and it takes Eddie too long to remember that, oh yeah, that’s the fake name he gave himself when he sent the message when he’d been lonely and more than a little out of it on Xanax he’d stolen from his mother’s stash of pills.

            “Uh, um yeah,” Eddie finally knocks himself out of his stupor, “Um, Stan?” This man, Stan, stifles a laugh and Eddie doesn’t understand why but he immediately wonders how the fuck he’s embarrassed himself already.

            “Yep, I’m Stan The Man,” he says. Eddie grimaces.

            “God, I hope that’s not your stripper name,” Eddie mumbles, then his eyes grow wide and his cheeks go red when he realizes he just said that _out loud_. He risks a look at Stan and finds that shocked expression on his face again, but after a moment he starts laughing loud and full bellied. Eddie groans and covers his face, expecting this to be the end of this mortifying moment in his life, but, unfortunately, Stan surprises him by dropping into the empty spot beside Eddie and slings an arm over the back rest of the bench. He’s not touching Eddie, but Eddie can smell the faintest scent of cigarette smoke and marijuana under a fresh layer of a heady cologne that gives Eddie the horrifying urge to lean in and press his nose to the fabric of Stan’s dark Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.

            “I think I like you, Jer-Bear,” Stan says with a grin.

            “Oh God, please don’t call me that,” Eddie groans, rolling his eyes. Stan only looks more delighted by the second.

            “Do you wanna get out of here?” Stan asks, his eyes flicking casually over the park. Eddie stares at the side of Stan’s face in surprise at the abruptness of it. It’s an out. Eddie knows it’s an out. He could leave and chalk it up as a weird experience he’ll remember when he’s in his 40s and married to some woman his mother would approve of that he’d never be attracted to. When Eddie doesn’t respond, Stan looks at him and gives him a soft reassuring smile. There’d be no hard feelings.

            Eddie swallows thickly and nods.

            That’s how Eddie finds himself sitting on freshly made bed in a surprisingly nice hotel, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He wonders if he’s expected to pay for the room, but based on the look Stan had shared with the man at the front desk, Mike, he’s pretty sure they have some sort of deal. Stan is on the other side of the room, sitting in a chair that’s set in front of the small desk usually meant for traveling businessman. He’s eyeing Eddie’s fidgety visibly shaking hands with something like concern before his eyes flick up to Eddie’s eyes and he gives him a careful open smile.

            “Never had a beauty like you hit me up,” Stan says, smirking when Eddie goes red at the compliment, “I usually just get lonely housewives and some closeted older men. You got a neglectful husband that’s not givin’ you enough lovin’?” he asks with a cheeky wink. Eddie can’t help the ugly snort that flies out of him.

            “Uh, no,” Eddie replies, his tone edged with self-deprecation. He rubs his upper arm anxiously. He can’t seem to keep his shaky hands from fidgeting. Rubbing his arms, his knees, scratching at phantom itches on his neck or on his wrist. “Definitely, no husband or boyfriend for that matter,” he mumbles, shuffling his shoes on the carpeted floor. Stan frowns and stands, approaching Eddie’s stiff form. The bed dips beside Eddie when Stan sits but he keeps a space between them, giving Eddie room to breathe and he feels infinitely grateful for it. He’d been obsessing, imaging terrible scenarios of some old creep catfishing him and kidnapping him or trying to feel him up, or in one traumatizing instance, his mother showing up and telling him she’d been trying to find out if he was A Gay.

            He’s more than a little relieved to find out the photos sent to him, that had carefully left Stan’s head out, weren’t just photos stolen from some poor guys Facebook. He allows himself a moment to look over Stan’s lean torso out of the corner of his eye, imagining it bare and etched with lightly defined muscle like in the selfies still saved on his phone.

            “You can back out, y’know?” Stan reminds him gently, voice devoid of judgement, “Whenever you want.” Eddie looks at Stan, chewing on his bottom lip.

            “I- Yeah, um, I know.” When Eddie doesn’t say more, Stan reaches a hand out slowly, but Eddie doesn’t flinch away, so he wraps his fingers around Eddie’s hand where Eddie is digging his short finger nails into the skin of his leg. Stan’s palm is large and dwarfs Eddie’s hand, wrapping it in calloused warmth and it’s so… _nice_ and Eddie wants to fucking punch himself when the back of his eyes sting.

            “I don’t kiss on the lips,” Stan explains in a quiet voice, devoid of the teasing tone he’s had for most of their time together so far, rubbing his thumb over Eddie’s smooth knuckles. “If there’s something you don’t want me to do, or touch, or kiss, whatever, just tell me, and I won’t. It’s $100 for a BJ, $250 for me to top, $310 for me to bottom, anything else we can talk out.” Stan finally drops the serious expression and gives Eddie a flirty grin, “I’d be willing to try something new if it’s with someone as bangable as you,” he teases with a wink.

            Eddie’s head is spinning and his cheeks are burning, he’s… ‘overwhelmed’ would be an understatement. A fact which Eddie is going to blame for what happens next.

            “ _How much to cuddle_!?” Eddie blurts out, his voice too loud and much too high pitched.

            “Well, I can definitely throw in some post-cuddles for no extra charge.”

            “No, that’s…,” Eddie groans, sounding pained.

            “Oh!” Stan says, eyes wide, “You mean… _just_ cuddling, well that’s… definitely new.”

            Eddie’s stomach drops with shame and he pulls his hand from Stan’s hold which has gone slack with surprise. He drops his face into his hands, his face hot against his sweaty palms. “Oh God,” Eddie laments the loss of his dignity. _What the fuck is he doing here_?

            “Hey,” Stan says, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and tugging gently until Eddie lets Stan pull his hands from his face, “I’m not gonna turn down a nice cuddle sesh, Jer. It’s definitely not the worst thing I've been asked to do.” Eddie still looks uncertain but feels less like he’s going to die of shame. Stan moves his large hands to Eddie’s cheeks, cupping them. Eddie feels that stinging in his eyes again, his heart flips, and his hands are shaking when the adrenaline begins to drain from his body. “How about this?” Stan says, stroking his thumb under Eddie’s eye, “$25 bucks for an hour, I’ll be your own personal pillow, you can put whatever you want on the TV, they got pretty decent room service here, and if you change your mind about anything, just let me know.”

            Eddie feels pathetic, because he’s definitely failed at life somehow to end up here, contemplating paying a prostitute to hold him because he’s so desperate for someone to just hold him in a way that doesn't make him feel like he’s suffocating. And he could save what very small amount of dignity he has left by just getting up and _going_ , but Stan’s eyes are so kind and his hands are so warm and soft and he _wants_. So. He covers the back of one of Stan’s big hands with one of his much smaller ones and quietly says, “Okay.”

            Stan grins brightly and pulls away to crawl up the bed, kicking his boots off as he goes. Eddie watches him go, immediately missing the warmth, but grateful for the moment to get himself under control. Stan dramatically flops over onto his back in the center of the queen sized bed, cushioned by the fluffy pillows. He sprawls out star fish style and sighs, looking at Eddie very seriously, and in a shockingly well done imitation of Austin Powers asks, “How do you want me, Baby?” Eddie’s eyes widen and he barks out a laugh. He covers his mouth, but he’s still snickering.

            “God, that was awful,” Eddie lies. Stan props himself up on his elbows and waggles his brows at Eddie. Eddie can feel the nerves seeping out of him, replaced with mirth, and he forces himself to turn away and pull off his white sneakers and habitually puts them neatly beside the bed. He pulls his wallet out and counts out two 10s and a 5 and places them on the bedside table. He hesitates a second before undoing the three buttons of his polo shirt. His mother always makes him button it to the top despite how claustrophobic it makes him feel and having them all undone makes breathing suddenly easier.

            He turns and gets on all fours, crawling with a lot less grace than the bizarre lanky creature sprawled out on the bed. He pauses when he reaches Stan’s side, unsure, and when he looks up, he’s shocked to find Stan already watching him, his eyelids low and there’s a blush along his cheeks. It makes Eddie’s stomach swoop and goosebumps rise on his skin. The calm he’d begun to feel is waning. He sits on his legs and tucks his hands between his thighs, feeling abruptly childish. Stan has probably been with tons of people, and here was Eddie the virgin being a fucking freak, monopolizing Stan’s time for what was clearly peanuts if Stan’s price run down is anything to go by. He stares over Stan’s body, feeling off.

            Everything should be… settled. They were both in agreement but this is still someone else’s body, their space, and Eddie can’t push down the sense of wrongness at the idea that he’s putting Stan in a position he doesn't really want to be in. Stan gives him a look Eddie doesn't understand but its soft and makes Stan’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

            “Jer-bear, I promise it’s okay,” Stan assures him. When Eddie still doesn't move Stan sighs and lays back against the pillows, tucking his hands under his head. Eddie tries not to eye the pull of muscles on Stan’s biceps or the long armpit hair peeking out from his shirt sleeve. “How about this, if you promise to be honest when you’re not into something, I’ll do the same? How’s that?” Eddie mulls it over and nods.

            “Deal,” Eddie agrees.

            “Well then get over here!” Stan laughs.

            “I’m gonna… touch your chest, okay?” Eddie warns him. Stan huffs in exasperation but he’s grinning brightly.

            “Please fucking do, this room is chilly,” Stan says, “I need some warmin’ up.” He does the eyebrow waggle thing again and Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep his amusement from showing on his face.

            “Maybe I should just put the heater on,” Eddie pretends to contemplate it which earns a laugh from Stan. Eddie doesn't hide his smile this time as he lays himself down next to Stan’s tall form. He frowns, his eyes calculating while he figures out how best to do this. He lies on his side and tucks his trapped arm against his chest and carefully rests his head on Stan’s chest, right on his pec. He keeps unnecessary touching to a minimum, so it’s awkward and he’s stiff, but he still feels like an invader.

            “Is this… okay?” Eddie asks. Stan chuckles.

            “Yeah,” he replies, his voice strangely quiet, “’Course.” Eddie chances looking up and finds Stan’s eyes on him, his expression shockingly vulnerable. Eddie becomes suddenly aware of the heartbeat he can hear under his ear. It’s racing.

            “Are you _sure_?” he asks, frowning, his body already coiled to stand and just leave Stan alone. Stan laughs, it makes Eddie’s head bounce, and that vulnerability still hasn't left his eyes. Stan pulls one of his hands out from behind his head and places it on the side of Eddie’s, firmly pushing Eddie’s head back down when it had risen, hovering an inch above Stan’s chest. “I won’t take the money back or something.” Stan’s heart is still racing. He strokes his big palm over Eddie’s hair and Eddie wants to melt but he has to focus.

            “I’m good, I promise and you can get closer y’know? You look like you’re gonna get a crick in your neck,” Stan jokes. “Is this okay?” he asks suddenly, stilling his hand and lifting it from Eddie’s hair. An annoyed noise escapes Eddie, unbidden. He blushes and turns his face away when he sees Stan’s eyes go big and a grin stretches over his face.

            “Guess that’s a yes,” Stan teases, going back to petting Eddie’s hair.

            “Dick,” Eddie grumbles, his cheek mashed against Stan’s soft shirt, the smells from earlier now intensified and intoxicating. Stan laughs again and Eddie sort of loves the way it jostles him even though he grouches at Stan for it.

            20 minutes in, they have the TV on with some mindless reruns of Full House, and Stan has shifted from petting Eddie’s head to gently scratching his back through his polo shirt. It feels strange through the fabric but the gesture alone makes him want to become a puddle… and he would if it weren't for the fact that his muscles are yelling at him for the careful way he’s holding himself away from Stan’s body, not fully putting the weight of his head on Stan’s chest. His shoulder was starting to ache and his muscles were tense. It was a stark contrast to the way Stan seems to be molded into the mattress.

            And fuck. He wants to melt too.

            Fuck it.

            Eddie sighs and Stan makes a curious noise, dragging his eyes away from the television. Eddie ignores the wordless question and instead throws the arm he’s been holding stiffly at his side over Stan’s stomach, using it as leverage to pull the rest of his body across the small space between them. He presses himself all along Stan’s side and slings his leg over Stan’s, letting his knee rest in the space between Stan’s haphazardly spread legs. Stan makes a noise of surprise while Eddie takes a deep breath through his nose, letting the fist that’s been clenched against his chest for nearly half an hour finally relax and open as he breathes out through his mouth, forcing his body to relax. The deep inhale of Stan’s smell only helps to turn him to goo and he _finally_ relaxes into Stan’s body.

            “Okay?” Eddie asks, checking if what he’s done has crossed the line.

            “Totally,” Stan breathes out. He curves his arm along Eddie’s back, laying his big palm on Eddie’s sharp hip bone and reaches up with his free hand to rest it on Eddie’s arm where it’s laying across Stan’s abdomen. Eddie has to bite his bottom lip harshly to keep himself from crying and making his already tarnished image that much worse. There’s a lightness in his chest, every place that their bodies are touching is warm, and despite the tightness in his throat and the underlying sense of shame, he doesn't remember the last time he’s felt this… _good_.

            Stan’s thumb begins gently rubbing against Eddie’s hip and he rubs Eddie’s arm from shoulder to elbow firmly. Eddie stares at the strip of skin where Stan’s shirt has rolled up, his fingers drift towards it, and his nails lightly scratch the soft skin above Stan’s belly button. He can feel Stan’s breath hitch and he hears his heart rate spike. He nearly stops but reminds himself that Stan will tell him if it’s not okay. He absently draws circles on Stan’s tummy and occasionally stops to fiddle with some of the long hairs of Stan’s dark happy trail.

            He stops his scratching and drums his fingertips against the hot skin in thought. “How-,” Eddie frowns, “What made you… go into this line of work?” he asks slowly, tilting his head back so that it’s resting on Stan’s shoulder. Stan is already watching him and when they lock eyes, he moves the hand on Eddie’s arm to stroke back Eddie’s wavy brown bangs from Eddie’s eyes then cups Eddie’s face. Eddie’s heart thumps painfully against his chest and he finds himself pressing closer to the contact.

            “ _Fuck_ , you’re beautiful,” Stan mumbles. Eddie ugly snorts right in Stan’s face, his cheeks flushing, and a shy smile pulling at his lips.

            “Fuck off,” Eddie mumbles, attempting to tuck his head back down with Stan’s hand still cradling his cheek. “You don’t have to deflect, you can tell me to shut up.” Stan laughs.

            “I’m not deflecting,” Stan defends, rolling his eyes with a smile when Eddie looks at him flatly. Stan moves his hand back to Eddie’s shoulder, letting his head fall back against the pillows. Eddie thinks he’s being brushed off and it’s a little disappointing but he’s just lucky Stan didn't get upset and kick him out. “My career choice was not one my parents agreed with and I needed a way to support myself,” Stan explains to the ceiling, massaging his thumb into the meat of Eddie’s shoulder, “I like fucking and I figured I’d be able to at least cover rent and food.” Eddie is staring up at Stan again, watching his throat bob when he swallows and his chin work as he speaks.

            “Is it… I mean,” Eddie mumbles, losing steam when Stan’s eyes are back on him, “Are you okay?” Stan blinks a few times and then laughs loudly, suddenly wrapping his arms around Eddie in a tight hug.

            “Awww, Jer-Bear,” Stan coos into Eddie’s hair. It’s nowhere near as unpleasant or suffocating, but for an awful moment it reminds him of his mother. Eddie grunts and grips Stan’s shirt. “You _do_ care!” Eddie huffs and starts squirming.

            “That’s not my name,” he grumbles, pushing against Stan’s chest. He props his hands on Stan’s chest so that he’s hovering over Stan’s body, looking down at him. His stomach flips, taking in the sight of Stan’s messy black curls spread out over the white hotel pillow.

            “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Stan teases, his hands resting on Eddie’s hips. Eddie takes a deep breath.

            “No, I mean… Jerry isn't my name,” Eddie explains.

            “Yeah, I know,” Stan says again quietly, rubbing Eddie’s side reassuringly.

            “It’s Eddie.” Stan’s face splits into a grin, his eyes bright.

            “Eddie…,” Stan repeats, tasting the name on his tongue. Eddie’s skin grows hot and his heart races, hearing his real name spoken in that husky tone. “Eds, Eddie- Spaghetti, Edwardo, Eddie-man,” Stan starts rattling off nicknames and Eddie immediately regrets his decision. He groans.

            “Don’t fucking call me that shit,” Eddie gripes, glaring down at him. Stan’s eyes just sparkle with more mischievous.

            “Edward Speghedward,” Stan says next, his expression flat. Eddie groans, long suffering, before unceremoniously dropping all of his body weight on top of Stan’s chest, punching a pained grunt out of Stan followed by a strained laugh.

            “Asshole." Eddie doesn't move from his new position draped over Stan’s body, tucking his hands between his and Stan’s chests. He rests his check against Stan’s sternum, letting his legs rest between Stan’s spread legs. Stan grins and begins scratching between Eddie’s shoulder blades. “Can you… can you go under the shirt?” Stan’s hand pauses a moment. “You don’t have to,” he quickly reassures.

            Stan’s hand silently pushes under Eddie’s polo and Eddie can’t help the full bodied shiver at the skin on skin contact. Stan’s short nails begin scraping small circles on Eddie’s spine, drawing small pleased noises from his throat while he goes boneless. He hums contentedly and nuzzles his face against Stan’s chest. Stan’s scratching falters and his breath stutters.

            “Uh, Eds,” Stan says, his voice tight and strained. Eddie makes a questioning noise, but does nothing else, his head feeling fantastically blank. “It’s um… it’s been an hour.” Eddie’s eyes open wide and he pushes himself up, his heart plummeting into his stomach.

            “O-Oh,” he says, shifting his weight off Stan’s body. When he sees the relief on Stan’s flushed face, his own burns with shame, and all the happy feelings that had been wrapping around him like a blanket were gone and left him cold. “Then I should… I should get going,” Eddie mumbles, more to himself, dragging his fingers through his hair. He crawls to the edge of the bed and sits, reaching for his sneakers.

            “Hey,” Stan says, sitting up and crawling over to him. “You don’t have to rush out,” he reassures, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder. It only makes Eddie feel sick, the cold hard reality reminding him that this is all fake. He finishes tying his shoes and stands, slipping free of Stan’s hold

            “I, uh, gotta get home,” Eddie half-lies lamely, rubbing his arm. Stan stands too, scrubbing a hand through his already beautifully messy hair.

            “I can walk you out,” Stan offers.

            “No, no, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “I… Thank you… for this. I know it was weird and I just… appreciate you not making me feel like a freak.” Stan frowns, expression pinching.

            “You’re not a freak, Eds,” Stan tells him. Eddie gives him a forced smile, disbelieving, and takes a step back towards the door, hand reaching back blindly for the handle.

            “Bye, Stan.” Eddie pulls the door open. Just as Eddie is about to step out, Stan’s voice stops him.

            “It’s Richie,” Stan – Richie – corrects him. Eddie meets his eyes, surprised. “My name is Richie.” Eddie gives a pained smile, not expecting to ever need that information again except to hold it close to his heart when he inevitably feels suffocated and alone, a prisoner in his own home, with his ailing mother as his warden.

            “Richie,” Eddie agrees quietly before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He takes a shaky breath and heads for the elevator. When he steps into the lobby, he briefly makes eye contact with the handsome young black man behind the desk, Richie’s friend, Mike, and his stomach drops when he’s given a soft smile. It’s devoid of judgment, but there’s knowledge behind his gaze and it makes Eddie’s cheeks burn with shame. He quickly looks at his feet and hurries out onto the street.

            The sun is lower in the sky but is still a good 2 hours away from setting. He pulls out his phone and sighs when he sees a number of missed calls with the name ‘Mom’ next to them and corresponding Voicemail notifications. He tucks his hand into the deep pocket of his khakis, finger his wallet, while he swipes his thumb over the Voicemails with his other hand. He starts the first voicemail and holds the phone to his ear as he walks back towards the nearby park where his car is waiting.

            He listens to his mother’s shrill voice sob accusations of abandonment and threats of calling the police and reporting him missing if he doesn't call her soon. Dreads settles in his gut while he misses a plush hotel mattress and the warmth of a stranger.


	2. Dumb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whad up? Hope you like it~~
> 
> Sorry I've been so inconsistent with writing. Been distracted and feeling kinda pop about my writing :x

            Richie stares at the closed door, his heart sitting somewhere in his intestines, and he slumps down on the end of the bed. He breathes out in a whoosh of air and shoves his fingers into his curls. He can still feel phantom warmth all along his front and he’s relieved to find his half chub has completely died down. He hadn’t wanted to scare Eddie away. The noises he’d been making, the smooth hot skin under Richie’s hand, and the way Eddie’s body weight had pressed him into the mattress, and _fuck_ , it had made Richie hot all over. Richie knows himself well enough to realize that if he hadn’t stopped things, he’d have had a pretty big problem digging into Eddie’s hip. So he’d glanced at the clock, realized it’d been well over an hour, and it was the best excuse he could come up with without drawing attention to his predicament.

            He’d been equal parts relieved and disappointed when Eddie’s weight had left his body, but when he caught sight of the look on Eddie’s face, Richie knew he’d fucked up. He thinks he deserves a little leeway considering he’s not exactly in the business of hiding boners. Not that it matters. Now he’s filled with a sense of loss he can’t even articulate. Richie groans long and loud and shoves his face into his hands roughly.

            “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, Tozier?” he mumbles to himself before sitting up. He stands and shakes out his limbs then leans into view of the mirror hanging on the wall, rearranging his clothes and hair, a habitual ritual he partakes in after each ‘Date’. He usually showers and changes, but getting rid of the feeling of Eddie’s skin on his body is the last thing he wants right now. He takes a deep breath and stares into his own eyes, pointing a stern finger at his reflection. “Pull it the fuck together.” He stares himself down a moment longer, then gives a stern nod, and turns, heading for the door. He grabs his bag, double checking the pockets of his ripped black jeans for his phone and wallet, and heads out the door.

            He doesn’t expect to hear from Eddie ever again, but less than 2 weeks later, his phone pings and he finds a message from ‘Jerry’. He’s already in the hotel room he claimed as his own all those months ago when he started this. One of his usuals has been especially insatiable all week, constantly messaging him, a bored housewife named Martha. Richie suspects she’s hoping her husband will catch her in a desperate bid to get some excitement in her life. Stan has been warning him about vengeful spouses leaving him in a gutter, but she gives him massive tips on top of his set prices and despite being a much older lady, she’s a pretty good lay, so he never turns her down.

            However, the moment he reads the words ‘Cn I c u? ASAP,’ he immediately replies, reminding Eddie of the room number. Then he texts Martha to cancel. He’s almost certain it won’t go over well, but he’s incredibly unconcerned about it. He thinks he’ll be stuck waiting at least half an hour, but his heart leaps when only a few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Richie jolts to his feet and rushes to the door, jamming his phone into his pocket. He whips the door open and nearly falls over when there’s weight suddenly slamming into him, arms like a vice around his waist.

            When he looks down he finds familiar brown waves against his chest. Eddie is shaking in his arms, taking wheezy heaving breaths. Without even thinking about it, Richie wraps his arms protectively around the smaller man, cupping the back of his head, and holding him close.

            “Hey, hey,” he soothes, worry clear in his tone, pulling Eddie further into the room and letting the door swing shut on its own. “What’s wrong, Spaghetti Man?” he asks, stroking Eddie’s hair gently. Eddie just shakes his head and takes a deep shuddering breath, attempting to get himself under control. He finally pulls back far enough to let Richie see his pretty freckled face. His face is red and his eyes are shiny with tears. It’s clear he hasn’t begun fully crying, but Richie can see some moisture around the bags under his eyes where he must have tried wiping away stray tears. It breaks Richie’s heart like nothing else.

            Eddie reaches into his pocket for something and then pushes it against Richie’s chest. When Richie carefully takes it from Eddie’s fist, he finds it’s a fifty dollar bill. He feels the urge to give it back, but he swallows it down and shoves the bill into his pocket. He grips Eddie’s upper arms and stoops down to catch Eddie’s eyes. Eddie attempts to turn his gaze away, clearly embarrassed and ashamed by his behavior, and Richie wants to fight him on it, but he tells himself it’s not his place. A fat tear slides off the tip of Eddie’s nose and leaves a barely noticeable damp spot on the carpet, but his breathing isn’t as wheezy.

            “Ya hungry?” Richie asks, wanting terribly to brush his lips against Eddie’s face, to wipe away the tears, but reminds himself again that he shouldn’t. Eddie shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

            “I don’t have any more money…,” he replies, voice small and terribly sad. Richie grins at him, it feels forced but he knows it’ll look genuine.

            “I know a little place called Mickey Ds that gives a disgusting amount of food for cheap,” Richie replies, “Found myself with a whole fifty dollars even, we could probably fill this place wall to wall with cheeseburgers.” He swings his arms out, looking around the room like he’s imagining a great valley of cheeseburgers replacing the landscape of the clean hotel room. Eddie gives a small wet laugh, sniffling, and wiping under his nose with the back of his wrist. It’s still sad, but the laugh seems genuine, and it makes Richie’s chest warm.

            “I’m sure that’ll draw in customers,” Eddie jokes, “Really set the mood.”

            “Come for the beef, stay for the sweet sweet cheeseburgers,” Richie says back with a lecherous grin, waggling his brows. Eddie laughs, covering his mouth. Richie’s grin grows brighter and softer, splitting his face. He takes Eddie’s wrists and guides him over to the bed in the center of the room. Eddie sits with the coaxing of Richie’s guiding hands and he seems infinitely better than he had been only moments before, but his expression sobers a little.

            “You can’t use the money I gave you to buy me food,” Eddie points out, “I gave that to you for… this, isn’t it weird using money on a client? It seems like it defeats the purpose.” Richie pushes Eddie’s hair back from his forehead, something he can already see developing into a habit. He lets himself enjoy the warmth of Eddie’s skin on his fingertips and the soft hair against his rough palm for a moment before reaching into his wallet. Eddie frowns in confusion while Richie fishes out a $5 bill. Richie reaches over and grabs Eddie’s wrist, pulling Eddie’s hand towards him and plops the bill in Eddie’s palm.

            “Today only, $5 off a $50 purchase,” Richie says, “I figure if the Cheeseburger Mountains don’t draw a crowd, the discount will do the trick.”

            “With that deadly combo, I’m sure you’ll have a line out the door,” Eddie replies sarcastically, but his eyes are glittering and he’s struggling to keep a smile off his face.

            Richie feels something in his chest flutter. He grins and swipes the five back out of Eddie’s hand, “Dare to dream,” Richie sighs, walking over to the desk and picks up the complimentary notepad and pen that has the hotel’s logo printed on them. He hands them to Eddie. “Write down your order,” Richie tells him when Eddie just looks at him. Eddie’s eyes still appear watery and Richie can’t help cupping Eddie’s jaw, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of Eddie’s cheek. Eddie lets out a barely there sigh and leans into the touch.

            “There are towels in the bathroom if you wanna shower and I have some extra sweats,” Richie tells him quietly, his eyes flick down to Eddie’s soft lips and his heart jumps when the pad of his thumb skims over the warm pink skin of Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie’s lips part in a soft gasp and Richie forces himself away, trying to move with casualness he doesn’t feel. A hand scrubbing through his curls is the only give away of the anxiety pumping through his veins. He gives Eddie a flirty grin and winks, “I’ll head out while you get yourself ready for me.”

            Eddie flushes at the innuendo and jerks his head down, quickly scribbling down his order, and shoves it into Richie’s hand. “Just get the fuck out of here, fuckface,” Eddie snipes and stands, heading for the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. Richie dramatically slams his body against the closed door and sighs loudly, palms and cheek flat against the wood.

            “I hate to see you leave,” Richie calls through the door, voice sorrowful, “But I love to see you go.” The door suddenly swings open and Richie nearly falls forward into the bathroom, but he’s eaten concrete enough times for his body to habitually reach out and grab the door frame. He hugs it, hooking his leg onto the wall and giving Eddie a comically wide eyed look of betrayal. Eddie gives him a flat expression in return and holds his hand out.

            “Pants?” Eddie asks.

            “Well, since you asked nicely,” Richie teases, pulling away from the wall and reaches for his own belt. Eddie goes red and jerks his fist back and punches Richie’s shoulder, then seems to realize what he’s done and who to and goes pale. Before Eddie can apologize or panic, Richie laughs and rubs his throbbing arm. He heads for his bag and snatches out a pair of his spare sweats.

            “There’s some muscles hidden in that tiny package,” Richie comments with a snicker, handing Eddie the pants.

            Eddie takes the pants numbly but there’s guilt written all over his face. “Richie, I’m- I’m so sor-,” he tries to get out. Richie cuts him off by cupping Eddie’s face and boldly planting a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

            “It’s okay, Eds,” Richie promises, pulling Eddie into his arms, “We agreed to be honest with each other, I know you were just fucking around.”  Eddie makes a small frustrated noise and presses his forehead to Richie’s collarbone but keeps his arms wrapped around the pants held to his chest.

            “I don’t wanna… take advantage of you,” Eddie admits softly. Affection blooms in Richie’s chest like a garden, he strokes Eddie’s hair, and chuckles softly. He finds himself curling forward, pressing his chin to the top of Eddie’s head, the soft hairs tickling his nose. He can’t resist pressing his nose to Eddie’s scalp, burying his face into it in a moment of weakness. Eddie tilts his head up and presses his face into Richie’s throat and his arms come up to wrap around Richie’s waist, the sweats clutched in his right hand. Richie shivers when Eddie’s nose drags over the short spiky hairs that have started sprouting near his Adam’s apple and his hot breath fans out over his flesh.

            Richie’s heart is banging against his ribs and all he wants is to slide his hands under Eddie’s shirt, to feel that hot smooth skin under his palms again, and the skin he hasn’t touched yet. Eddie’s palm slides up and down Richie’s spine before sneaking up and into Richie’s hair, fingers curling into the strands. Eddie’s nails lightly scrape over Richie’s scalp. Richie makes a small noise and melts into Eddie, sighing against Eddie’s head. His brain feels fuzzy with euphoria and his fingers develop a mind of their own, trailing down towards the dimples at the bottom of Eddie’s spine. The side of his hand brushes denim fabric.

            Richie abruptly comes back to himself, suddenly realizing how lost he’d become in the feel of Eddie’s body. He carefully pulls back, conscious of how negatively Eddie reacted the last time Richie acted without thinking. He doesn’t move back too far, despite the voice that sounds suspiciously like Stan yelling at him to get the fuck away from Eddie. He moves his hands to safer territory, putting his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, although Richie is rapidly discovering that no part of Eddie is safe. Eddie’s eyes are half lidded and dazed, heat fills Richie’s cheeks, and it takes more will power than it should not to lean in and kiss him.

            “I’ll be back soon, okay?” Richie tells him, his voice quiet. Richie isn’t sure he’d say no if Eddie asked him to stay, but luckily Eddie doesn’t exert whatever newfound power he has over Richie and just nods obediently.

            “Okay,” Eddie agrees quietly.

            “Okay,” Richie echoes and forces himself to take a step back and out of Eddie’s space. Their eyes stay locked as Richie backs out of the bathroom until Eddie quietly shuts the door. Richie finally feels like he can think. He sighs and shoves his hand into his pocket as he heads out. He spots Mike behind the desk, but he’s speaking to a young couple and Richie doesn’t want to chat while Eddie’s waiting anyway. They lock eyes briefly and Mike looks at him in confusion. Richie knows Mike doesn’t miss anything, he’s sure Mike recognized Eddie coming in and is wondering what the hell is going on seeing as Richie never leaves his ‘Dates’ alone in his room.

            While he has this time alone, he should be trying to analyze what the hell is going on with him or figuring out how to tell Eddie that they shouldn’t see each other again. It’s what Stan would want him to do. But he just buys their food, double checking he got Eddie’s meal right and ordering a few pies for good measure, all the while mentally replaying the intimate moment shared between them in the bathroom.

            When he’s sitting across from Eddie on the hotel bed with the food spread out between them, Eddie in Richie’s over sized sweats adorably rolled up around his calves and his hair damp from showering, Richie doesn’t regret his decision. Eddie is chowing down, looking content and comfortable with South Park acting as background noise. It’s such a stark contrast to the shaking mess he’d been when he’d banged on Richie’s door, it makes Richie’s heart feel full.

            But, that could be the McDonalds clogging his arteries.

            Richie groans loudly and flops over onto the bed, rubbing his bulging stomach. Eddie laughs around a chicken nugget, only about half way through his 10 piece, while Richie has already downed 2 cheeseburgers and a medium fry. “Don’t laugh at my pain, you fucking chipmunk,” Richie grumbles, looking up at Eddie with a glare. This is such bullshit. Eddie is even cute at this unflattering angle with a fucking chicken nugget in his mouth.

            “I’m not a chipmunk just because my stomach isn’t a black hole like yours,” Eddie replies, “…And my ma says I’m more like a bird.”

            “Then my friend Stan would _love_ you,” Richie says with a laugh. Eddie can’t possibly understand what Richie is talking about, but he grins.

            “So, you used your friend’s name as an alias?” Eddie asks, “I’m sure he’s real happy about that.”

            “What Stanny boy doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Richie replies, “Or me.” Eddie laughs and Richie wants to reach out and touch. Even just something small. So he tries to make it casual and lets his arm swing out and land on the bed with a small thump, stretched out over the space between them, allowing his fingers to rest lightly against Eddie’s clothed knee. It’s a small point of contact, but the warmth soothes something inside Richie he didn’t know needed soothing. He looks at Eddie’s relaxed face as Eddie eats and absently watches the television, he thinks of the urgency of the message he’d received, and a question bubbles dangerously in his gut.

            “Why were you so upset?” He doesn’t mean to ask it and regrets it immediately, because Eddie becomes frighteningly still, a nugget half way to his mouth. Richie frowns and sits up. “Eds, hey, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, grabbing Eddie’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly, “I shouldn’t have asked.” Eddie finally comes back to himself, dropping the nugget back into the cheap cardboard box and sighs.

            “It’s… okay,” Eddie tells him, clearly thinking over what he wants to say. “It’s just… I’m ashamed.” Richie frowns.

            “I am the _king_ of shamelessness,” Richie declares with a scoff, “King Trashmouth, that’s me.” Then his voice softens, “You don’t ever need to feel embarrassed around me.” Eddie stares into Richie’s eyes, long and searching, clearly disbelieving, but he finally slumps and tells Richie about his life.

            Eddie tells Richie stories that break his heart.

            Eddie’s mother lied to him for years about being sick and when Eddie confronted her about her lies, she shut him down with tears and manipulation that Eddie felt he had no choice but to cave into. He’d dreamed of leaving the moment he was old enough, but the truth is, he hadn’t known how. His mother had never let him have a job or do volunteer work, doing what she could to keep him home, he hadn’t really had any friends, and she’d even tried to keep him from getting a license until her doctors had declared her too impaired by her chronic back pain to drive and she had no choice but to teach him. It had been a horrible learning experience, but he loved driving like nothing else. By the time he was 18, he was prone to crippling panic attacks that went untreated and she’d broken him down until he felt he had nowhere else he could go and no chance at a life on his own, so he stayed with her. Accepting allowances that usually went predominantly towards purchasing her pills and groceries, just another way she owned him. His existence just seemed to be endless boredom and self-loathing punctuated randomly by self-medicating on pain killers and anti-anxiety pills he’d swipe from his mother’s stash.

            By the time Eddie is done talking 45 minutes of their 2 hours together had passed. A moment of heavy silence passes where Eddie doesn’t look at Richie, before Eddie quietly says, “Please don’t pity me.”

            Richie knows he’s felt pity once before, when he was 5 or 6 and one of the kids in his class, Patrick, had lost his baby brother. The day Patrick was found guilty was the day he decided to never pity anyone ever again. Richie couldn’t fully describe the emotions he’s feeling, but he knows it’s not that. He’s angry, he can definitely identify that, fucking _furious_ at a woman he’s never met, and something else, something that makes him want to sweep Eddie into his arms, bundle him in a soft blanket, and lock him away in his and Stan’s shared apartment where Eddie would never have to see his shitty mother ever again. It takes an obscene amount of self-control, more than he ever thought he possessed, to not do just that.

            Richie gets the absurd urge to hum _‘A Whole New World’_. Except he can’t do that.

            Oh, he could break into an amazing rendition of a one man duet of his favorite Disney song, but he couldn’t fucking offer a borderline stranger, a _John_ , his home. Because that’s insane and Stan would actually fucking kill him. Then he’d probably make Eddie some Matzo Ball soup or some shit while Richie lays dead on the floor because Richie has no doubt Eddie would get to the gooey center of his best friend’s cold heart.

            “I don’t pity you,” Richie finally settles on from where he’s propped against the headboard. Eddie still isn’t looking at him, Richie can practically see Eddie mentally whipping himself in the tension of his shoulders. “Eds,” Richie calls, Eddie doesn’t look at him, just rolls the fabric of Richie’s borrowed sweats between his fingers. Richie doesn’t like being ignored. “Edddssss, Spaghetti Headddd, Eddie boyyy,” Richie could tell by the way Eddie hunched over and turned his face away that he’s just being stubborn now. “Eds Eds Eds,” Richie takes an obnoxiously large breath, “EdsEdsEdsEdsEdsE-“

            “What!?” Eddie screeches, whipping his head around to glare at Richie.

            Richie opens his arms invitingly and pats his own chest, “’mere.”

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie asks flatly. Richie smacks his full belly, making a satisfying slap sound.

            “C’monnnnn,” Richie says in his best New Jersey accent. Eddie rolls his eyes but finally crawls from the foot of the bed over to Richie.

            “Who’re you trying to be, Joe Pesci?” Eddie mumbles while he settles against Richie’s side, resting his cheek on Richie’s collar bone and curls his arm around Richie’s stomach, letting out a contented sigh. Richie grins and presses his forehead against the top of Eddie’s head, curling his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him more firmly against him.

            “Funny how? Like I’m a clown? Do I _amuse_ you?” Richie changes his accent just a little until he’s doing an impressive imitation of Joe Pesci from the Godfather. Eddie tries to muffle his laughter in Richie’s shirt. Richie presses a kiss to Eddie’s head, far less concerned with being pushed away, especially when Eddie gives Richie a small squeeze in response. It’s another danger, giving himself this wordless permission, but like every other red flag, he just files it away instead of paying it any attention. Eddie curls his leg over Richie’s hip and makes a small happy noise that floods Richie’s system with endorphins. He runs his fingers through Eddie’s soft waves. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything,” Richie reassures him quietly, “I’m not gonna judge you.”

            Eddie slides his hand up Richie’s side and up his chest, fingering the collar of Richie’s t-shirt that makes Richie’s skin tingle, expression thoughtful. “I know that… this isn’t exactly… a friendship and I’m paying for your time,” Eddie says slowly, clearly thinking out his words, “But… you can tell me stuff about yourself, if you want. Y’know and same… about the judgment.” Richie’s eyes go soft and he strokes Eddie’s hair from his face.

            “You’re gonna regret saying that,” Richie laughs, “I’ve been on my best behavior and you’re asking me to release the beast.” Eddie makes that adorable ugly snorting sound.

            “How much worse could you possibly get?” Eddie asks incredulously.

            “If you knew how badly I wanted to make a joke about fucking your mom after that heartfelt speech, you’d probably just stab me,” Richie tells him honestly.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie asks, deeply offended. Richie grins and shifts until he’s on his side, facing Eddie. Their noses are practically touching and it becomes all the more intimate when Richie cups Eddie’s face in his hands, but Eddie’s deeply disturbed expression hasn’t fallen away. Richie feels giddiness swirling in his gut.

            “Eds?” Richie asks, his voice soft and sweet. Eddie’s own expression finally softens in response.

            “Yeah?”

            “I really have to take a shit,” Richie tells him in that same sweet voice before scrambling off the bed.

            “You gross dickhead!” Eddie calls after Richie whose laughing all the way to the bathroom. “I’m already regretting this,” Eddie grumbles, sitting up on the bed, as Richie closes and locks the bathroom door, “You better wash your fucking hands or I actually will stab you!”

            Richie laughs harder.

            That’s how it goes for Richie for a while. Eddie would message him every other week, usually looking stressed and sad, and Richie would make it better. He fills the time between seeing Eddie with hanging out with his friends, searching for opportunities and auditions to get his foot in the door, and imagines dark freckled skin while he fucks into his ‘Dates’. Sometimes Richie wants to message Eddie, see how he’s doing, but he made it a rule that he’d never message a ‘Date’ first and it’s the only thing that keeps him in check.

            When he finally tells Stan about Eddie, only after Mike mentions it, Stan doesn’t leave him alone about it. He doesn’t lie when he goes to see Eddie and Stan takes every opportunity to tell Richie what a bad idea it is to keep seeing him. He gives Richie these concerned looks that Richie pointedly ignores.

            When they see each other, it’s all openness and comfort, soft touches mixed with sharp banter and occasional moments of rough horseplay that’s simultaneously the best and worst when he has Eddie squirming below and on top of him. It’s a harsh reality for both of them every time they’re reminded that this isn’t a normal friendship. For all Richie’s pseudo confidence, he knows he’s just a warm body, same as ever. If Eddie had someone else to go to, Richie is sure he’d never see Eddie again. Most days when Eddie walks out, part of him doesn’t expect to see Eddie again, and he’d understand if he didn’t. Eddie deserves better than him anyways.

            Richie doesn’t hear from Eddie for nearly 2 months and it sends him into a funk that mostly consists of spending his free time lying around and imagining Eddie finding a nice guy that’s swept him off his feet the way Richie had sometimes wished he could. It worries his friends, especially Stan who goes full overbearing mother. It’s both sweet and insanely fucking annoying. He’ll get over it. That’s what he tells them. If he could get over his parents practically disowning him, he can handle not seeing a guy who was paying to hang out with him.

            When he finally receives a message from Eddie, he’s sitting at weekly lunch with the gang. They look at him with wide worried eyes when he suddenly jumps to his feet.

            “What’s wrong, Rich?” Ben asks with a frown.

            “I, uh, I gotta go,” Richie fumbles, reaching into his pocket to pull out a $10 bill to cover his meal that hasn’t even arrived yet. Stan stands and grabs Richie’s arm before he can sprint away. He nearly snaps at Stan for stopping him while he has all this adrenaline pumping through his veins, but stops himself when he notes the undiluted concern that has taken over his friend’s usual poker face.

            “Richie,” Stan says quietly, “You can’t let him control your emotions like this.” Richie knows that Stan doesn’t _get it_. Richie is sure he’s imaging some manipulative asshole that Richie has fallen into some unhealthy _thing_ with. He pulls Stan into his arms for a quick hug.

            “I’m fine, Stanny,” Richie promises before pulling away and heading for the door, “Make sure to box my shit.”

            Richie grabs a cab. He stares at the message. “Can I see you? – Jerry.” He types a quick response. “Ofc. Omw now.” He spots Eddie immediately. It’s hard not to when Eddie is wearing a pastel pink sweater that stands out in front of the gray building. He’s so fucking cute. Richie’s heart is racing, ecstatic to see his Spaghetti Head again. He tosses the taxi driver a few bucks and leaps out of the cab as soon as possible.

            He grins and bounds over to Eddie, taking his hand gently. There’s something off about Eddie, but that’s not necessarily uncommon, and Eddie returns his smile. Eddie isn’t a very good liar like Richie is and Eddie’s smile is genuine and his eyes practically sparkle. Fuck Richie has missed him. Richie leads Eddie inside, aware that they’re very in public, but the moment they’re behind closed doors, he pulls Eddie in close. Eddie’s arms immediately go around his waist, clutching him close while Eddie buries his face in Richie’s shirt. He can hear Eddie taking a deep breath, inhaling what Richie is sure smells like cologne and diner food. But Richie can’t judge as he’s not much better, shoving his face into Eddie’s shower damp scalp and inhaling the now familiar scent of strawberry shampoo.

            After a few moments, Richie begins to pull back, but Eddie’s grip tightens and he makes a small noise in his throat. Richie gives a soft chuckle, his brows bowing in concern. He strokes Eddie’s hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead as best he can while Eddie’s face is hidden away.

            “I know I’m easy to miss but this is just ridiculous,” Richie teases then softens when Eddie doesn’t react, “What’s the matter, Eddie-Baby?”

            Eddie takes a deep steadying breath before one of his hands slides away and into his pocket in a familiar move, digging for money. However instead of the usual $20 and $5 bills or $50 bill, he pulls out small a wad of cash. Richie’s eyes widen and Eddie presses the wad to Richie’s chest with a trembling fist. Richie gently takes it from Eddie’s hand. He does a quick count in his head, $250 bucks, and looks at Eddie who’s still avoiding his gaze.

            “Um, I know we have a good time together but even I know there’s no one alive who wants to spend this much time with me,” Richie jokes, attempting to diffuse the tension. Eddie takes another careful steadying breath.

            “I want-,” Eddie swallows thickly, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously, “I want you to-.”

            “You gotta use your words, Eds.” Eddie lets out a frustrated huff through his nose.

            “I want you to take my fucking virginity,” Eddie barks, finally looking at him with fierce eyes. Richie is expecting it, but his mouth still falls open. The brief moment of Eddie’s annoyance fueled confidence disappears under Richie’s burning stare. He turns his head away. “I mean…,” Eddie mumbles. Holy _shit_. Richie might be having a heart attack.

            Richie grabs Eddie by the shoulders and walks him to the bed, pushing down until Eddie sits down heavily with a thump. Richie kneels down in front of Eddie, placing his hands on Eddie’s knees and using his lower vantage point to try and catch Eddie’s eye. Eddie tries to avoid his eyes, but Richie reaches up and grips Eddie’s chin, forcing Eddie’s head in his direction.

            “You can’t cut shut down on me, Eddie,” Richie tells him, “No judgment.”

            Eddie looks down at Richie and covers the hand resting on his left leg. Richie massages his thumbs into Eddie’s legs gently. “Will you do it?” Eddie asks, his voice small.

            “Anything you want,” Richie agrees automatically. Neither of them move. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Richie asks. He needs the reassurance, but he also might be stalling. He wants to tell Eddie they don’t have to do this anymore, that he doesn’t _want_ his money, but it’s like there’s a barrier between them. A fear that if he looks this gift horse in the mouth, it’ll all be taken from him and he’ll never see Eddie again.

            “Yes,” Eddie says quietly. He reaches for the hem of his sweater with shaking hands. Richie catches them before he can take it off and Eddie makes a noise of confusion. Richie stands, giving his aching knees some relief, and leans in to plant a kiss on the bridge of Eddie’s nose.

            “Slow down, Eds,” Richie says softly, “We’re in no rush.” He cups Eddie’s cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over Eddie’s soft skin. Eddie reaches up and once again covers Richie’s hand, the small touches seemingly grounding him. “Hey, Eds?”

            “Yeah?” Eddie mumbles, eyes closed, taking slow deep breaths.

            “Can I kiss you?” Eddie jolts in surprise.

            “I thought you said you didn’t-,” Eddie tries to say.

            Richie interrupts him, “I know…,” Richie agrees, “I know what I said… I just- You can say no.” Eddie is still staring at him, eyes wide. Richie doesn’t know what’s come over him, he’s wanted to kiss Eddie more than once these past months, but god, he just doesn’t give a shit about his stupid rules anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He just needs Eddie _close_. Eddie grabs Richie by the back of the head, digging his fingers into Richie’s thick curls, and pulls him into a soft kiss. Richie makes a noise of surprise, but he closes his eyes and responds in kind.

            Richie’s spine is at an awkward 90 degree angle to reach Eddie’s lips and his back is starting to ache, but he could not care less, because there’s electricity in his veins. He’s not sure he’s shared a kiss quite like this since he was young, something soft, almost innocent, close mouthed and sweet. It sets butterflies loose in Richie’s stomach and Richie commits the moment to memory. But he’s not complaining when Eddie’s tongue probes imploringly at the split of Richie’s lips, happily parting his lips and shivering when their tongues brush. Eddie’s fingers tighten in Richie’s hair and unintentionally tug, making Richie’s breath stutter, and he groans into Eddie’s mouth. They pull away with a slick noise that only serves to make heat pool in Richie’s abdomen.

            “Wow,” Eddie mumbles, scratching Richie’s scalp softly, his eyelids heavy and his pupils blown. Richie rests his forehead against Eddie’s.

            “Yeah,” Richie replies, thickly swallowing the saliva that’s pooled in his mouth, “Ditto.” Richie runs his hands firmly down over Eddie’s shoulders and upper arms in a soothing gesture that’s become common place. “You sure you’re a virgin?” Richie mumbles, pressing his lips to Eddie’s cheek.

            “You’d be surprised how much making out happens when there’s only one other closeted gay guy in your high school,” Eddie tells him, sighing happily when Richie works his lips to a spot behind Eddie’s ear. “Asshole wouldn’t even say hi to me in the hallw- mnh,” Eddie’s words cut off on a moan when Richie’s teeth scrape against his pulse point. Richie leans his forehead against Eddie’s temple and slides his hands up towards Eddie’s neck, pressing his thumbs lightly into the curve between Eddie’s neck and shoulders.

            “I knew it,” Richie whispers against Eddie’s ear. Eddie shivers from the warm breath but makes an offended noise.

            “That I’d be ignored in high school?” Richie chuckles.

            “Nah, if that were me, I’d never leave you alone,” Richie admits and presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s cheek, “I’d risk all the detentions and asskickings to see that cute little face every day.”

            “ _Richie_!” Eddie huffs, smacking at Richie’s shoulder but his cheeks go a pretty shade of pink. Richie grins and straightens up, his back cracking loudly. He winches and rubs his lower back. “Old man,” Eddie teases with a mischievous grin. Richie tries to give him an annoyed look but he can’t keep the smile off his face. He reaches down and digs his fingers into Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s head is all the way back in order to make eye contact with Richie and Richie can’t help noting that Eddie is in the perfect position for Richie to push his cock between Eddie’s plush lips. The way Eddie’s eyes flick towards Richie’s zipper and his eyes darken, Richie doesn’t think he’s the only one whose mind is in the gutter.

            “What I was _trying_ to say,” Richie says, his voice going husky while dragging his hand down to palm Eddie’s cheek, pressing his thumb to Eddie’s lip, “I knew you’d make the prettiest noises.”

            Eddie rolls his eyes but bites back a smile, nearly catching Richie’s thumb on his teeth, and says “That’s such a line, you ass.”

            “Doesn’t make it a lie,” Richie replies with a shrug and finally takes a step out of Eddie’s space. He kneels back down, getting on his knees while Eddie watches him with uncertainty, but Richie only reaches for Eddie’s simple white sneakers and starts untying them. “Did you fucking triple knot these? What the fuck?” Richie mumbles as he works, drawing a laugh out of Eddie who leans back on his palms casually. Richie glances up at Eddie’s amused expression and is happy to find all of his nervous energy gone.

            “Excuse me for not wanting to eat shit all of the time like you,” Eddie replies. Richie laughs and leans in to bite Eddie’s jeaned covered calf in retaliation, making Eddie yelp and laugh. He tries to tug his leg free but Richie holds tight.

            “I don’t know, your mom seems pretty happy with my shit eating skill,” Richie snarks back, finally undoing Eddie’s right sneaker and tugging it free before tossing it behind him without concern.

            Eddie’s face scrunches up with disgust, “Oh my fucking god, that’s disgusting!” Eddie yells, covering his face, muffling his voice, and dropping onto his back on the bed, “Why? Why are you like this?” Richie grins and gets the other one off. He gets to work on Eddie’s socks while Eddie drops his arms out on the bed, spreading them out and staring up at the ceiling. Richie drops the first sock on the floor and smooths his big palms over Eddie’s unsurprisingly dainty feet. He digs his thumb into the arch of Eddie’s foot, causing Eddie to let out a choked gasp and his toes to flex.

            “You should really paint your toes,” Richie comments, carefully tilting Eddie’s bare foot towards him and presses a kiss to the lightly fuzzy top of it, “It’d be really cute.”

            “You shouldn’t put my feet near your face,” Eddie grumbles, but he sounds sort of breathless, “’s gross.” Richie drops the foot and moves to the other to get the last sock off, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s leg.

            “There’s nothing gross about you,” Richie assures him, standing once Eddie’s feet are free. Richie easily kicks off his own Converse in a second and peels off his gaudy pineapple socks and tosses them aside. Eddie sits back up, propping himself on his elbows to watch. Richie grips the hem of his own graphic tee. “Can I?” Richie asks, checking Eddie’s comfort level.

            “Yeah,” Eddie whispers, sitting up straighter, his eyes impossibly wide and focused in on Richie’s hands. He gnaws on his bottom lip in anticipation. Richie takes his shirt off slower than necessary, revealing more and more of his torso, purposely flexing his abs and biceps as he does. He’s sure Eddie would make fun of him if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie is obviously absolutely into it. Richie’s skin feels hot where Eddie’s eyes are drinking him in, jumping from his stomach to his chest to his arms and back again.

            Richie drops the fabric on the floor and moves back into Eddie’s space, fitting into the space between Eddie’s legs. “You wanna touch?” Richie asks. Eddie’s eyes are trained on the thicker black hair that trails up Richie’s abdomen, Eddie licks his lips subconsciously, and Richie’s cock twitches to life. Eddie’s eyes flick up to meet his eyes. They’ve moved passed this such a long time ago, having had an implicit consent in regards to touching one another that it’s sort of strange to be asking now. But this is different. He wants this to be good for Eddie and Richie knows overwhelming him is not the way to do it.

            Eddie nods, lifting his hand, but his palm freezes an inch from where Richie’s hipbones are visible above the waistband of Richie’s boxers that are just visible. Richie reaches down and covers the back of Eddie’s hand, pressing Eddie’s palm firmly against his hip. The skin on skin contact sends a small zing through Richie’s body. Richie gently guides Eddie’s hand up his side, and over his ribs until he feels Eddie’s hand move of its own volition. He lets go of Eddie to grip Eddie’s bicep, running his hand up and down Eddie’s arm from shoulder to elbow in what he hopes is a calming gesture.

            Eddie reaches up with his other hand and allows both hands to roam Richie’s torso, but it’s not like anything Richie is used to. Yeah, he can see the heat behind Eddie’s eyes, but the slow way he moves and lets his fingers linger over scars, moles, and freckles, like he wants to make a mental note of them all. It leaves Richie emotionally torn open and his skin hypersensitive. Despite the fact that with anyone else, they’d be long past foreplay and onto the main event by now, he doesn’t tell Eddie to stop, just watches Eddie’s movements closely. He wants to see where Eddie takes things on his own, but a bigger part of him just doesn’t want it to stop.

            Eddie’s hands finally still, resting over Richie’s racing heart, and Richie feels only a moment of disappointment before Eddie is standing, causing them to press close together, and pulls Richie into a heated kiss that makes his knees feel weak. Richie cups one hand on the back of Eddie’s head and the other on Eddie’s cheek, returning the kiss enthusiastically, groaning lowly, and fruitlessly trying to press even closer. Eddie’s fingers are digging into Richie’s hips hard enough to leave bruises and Richie is already rock fucking hard.

            “Fuck, Eds,” Richie sighs against Eddie’s lips. Eddie chases his lips for one more kiss before pushing Richie back with a palm to the chest. Richie takes two full steps back, anticipating a full stop, but Eddie blows his fucking expectations out of the water. Eddie bravely pulls his sweater off in one swift motion revealing an expanse of more tan skin, a little lighter than the skin of his arms, and freckled shoulders. “Double fuck,” Richie breathes, moving back into Eddie’s space the moment Eddie reaches for him. They grab onto one another, touching what skin is available to them.

            “Ditto,” Eddie mumbles, pressing a kiss to Richie’s collar bone.

            “Word of the day,” Richie jokes, pressing his face to Eddie’s hair.

            “Ass,” Eddie grumbles without much heat.

            “Well, if you insist,” Richie replies, running his hands down Eddie’s spine and takes two handfuls of Eddie’s ass through his baggy jeans. Eddie jerks and yelps in surprise and lightly smacks Richie’s arm in retaliation. Richie laughs, but doesn’t let go, instead digging his thumbs into the crease of Eddie’s ass. Richie feels Eddie’s full bodied shiver all along his front, but Eddie doesn’t tell him to stop or pulls away, instead he presses his cheek to Richie’s chest and makes a soft high noise that goes straight to Richie’s dick. “Y’re really sensitive, huh?” Richie asks, surprised by how breathless it comes out.

            Richie tucks his chin on top of Eddie’s head and watches his hands and the play of muscles on Eddie’s back as they tense and relax sporadically along with the quiet gasps Eddie is puffing out against Richie’s skin. He bites his bottom lip and slides his hands a little higher up so his thumbs can brush the dip at the base of Eddie’s spine before impulsively letting them slip under the fabric of Eddie’s pants and boxers, dipping his fingers into Eddie’s crack.

            Eddie jolts back in surprise, eyes wide. Richie immediately takes his hands off and backs off. “Sorry!” Richie apologizes immediately. Eddie has gone totally red and is strategically holding his arms in front of his lap. “You okay, Eds?” he asks, “I should’ve checked with you, I went overboard, ‘m sorry.”

Eddie takes a deep calming breath. “It’s okay, I just… need a second,” Eddie confesses.

            “Whatever you need,” Richie assures him. Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, just sitting and taking a moment to do breathing exercises. It doesn’t seem like Eddie has gone into a full panic, but Richie feels like a fucking idiot. He’s supposed to be the one helping Eddie through this and he’s acting like a brainless dickhead.

            “I can practically hear you kicking your own ass from here,” Eddie says, finally looking up at him. Richie blushes and scrubs a hand through the hair at the back of his head. Eddie sighs and stands. “Close your eyes,” Eddie suddenly demands firmly. Richie makes a noise of confusion, but obediently shuts his eyes. All Richie can hear is shuffling fabric and the springs in the mattress squeaking slightly. “Okay.”

            When Richie opens his eyes, he needs his own fucking moment. Eddie is sitting in the middle of the bed, up against the pillows and headboard, with the thick hotel comforter tossed aside and the thin sheet pulled up over his waist. His jeans are lying on the floor in a pile. The shitty hotel lighting doesn’t do Eddie justice at all, but he looks so fucking good, flushed under tanned skin and nearly dry hair tousled. He’d look so much better under the glow of the stupid fairy lights Beverly hung up in Richie’s bedroom when he and Stan first moved in, wrapped in the weed leaf comforter Bill bought him for his birthday.

            Richie bends over and plants his hands on his own knees, taking an exaggeratedly deep breath. “Rich-,” Eddie starts exasperatedly, but Richie holds up a silencing hand.

            “I’m trying to talk my dick down, Eds, please, this is a private moment.” He’s playing it off as a joke, but fuck, it sort of isn’t. Richie has literally been having sex at _least_ twice a week since Richie has met Eddie but by the way his body is acting, it was like he’d had blue balls the entire time.

            “Richie!” Eddie calls with a laugh. Richie lifts his head and looks at him. There’s a small smile dancing on Eddie’s face, “Take your pants off and come here.” Richie doesn’t need to be told twice. He straightens up and begins tugging uselessly at his pants, grunting in frustration when his stupid fingers fumble the buttons. Eddie is outright laughing at him, nearly crying when Richie’s foot gets caught in his pants and he almost falls on his ass. This all started out so well. Richie had actual moves that he’s learned and perfected from months of getting _paid_ to have sex and when he could really use that suaveness, it’s completely abandoned him. Eddie wipes under his eyes and pulls back a corner of the covers invitingly.

            Richie swipes a condom and bottle of lube from the back-up bag he usually leaves in one of the dresser drawers before crawling in beside Eddie. Eddie chews on his lip and nervously eyes the gifts Richie has brought, but Richie sets them aside, showing they don’t need to worry about that right now. He turns a little more towards Eddie and tucks a stray hair behind Eddie’s ear. “What do you wanna do?” he asks. Eddie glances around, appearing to be coming up with a plan.

            “Um,” Eddie mumbles and slides down on the pillows until he’s lying flat on his back, with his hair splayed out on the pillows. He reaches over and gently tugs on Richie’s arm. Richie gets the message and carefully crawls on top of Eddie’s body, bracketing Eddie’s head with his arms, with the white sheet now making a small fort by hanging off his hips. Richie slips up and glances down, catching a brief glimpse of Eddie’s erection in his tight briefs.

            “This okay?” Richie asks, watching Eddie’s eyes bouncing around again, from Richie’s body to the lube by his head, before landing on the sheet that that’s starting to slide off Richie’s ass. Eddie reaches towards it and tugs it over them completely, covering their bodies and heads, blocking out the harsh lighting. The light seeping through the fabric is enough that they can see but still casts them in a soft shadow that sets Eddie more at ease. Richie thinks he gets it. It feels more intimate somehow, like they’re in their own little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. “Better?” Richie asks.

            “Yeah,” Eddie replies, “Sorry.” Richie frowns down at him.

            “Why?”

            “I don’t know,” Eddie admits with a sheepish smile, “I guess I just… feel sort of childish.” Richie leans down and kisses Eddie’s cheek.

            “No judgment,” Richie whispers softly against his soft skin. He nuzzles his nose to the same spot, “And I sort of like it,” he admits with a grin. Eddie reaches up and loosely wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, fiddling with a chunk of hair between his fingers. Richie moves to prop himself on his elbows so their noses are nearly touching. He takes advantage of the new position to slide his fingers into Eddie’s hair, just letting his hands rest there.

            “Can we keep going?” Eddie asks, eyes nearly going cross eyed in their effort to stare at Richie’s lips. Richie laughs softly.

            “Lead the way.” Eddie gently tugs Richie down, pulling Richie into another passionate kiss, clearly much more comfortable territory for him. Eddie hooks his leg on Richie’s hip, guiding them closer together. Richie groans and resists the urge to thrust against him, not wanting to scare Eddie off again. It’s an awkward angle, with Eddie being so fucking short, but _fuck_ , he just wants to grind down on Eddie’s thigh. He’d be more than content to dry hump through their briefs until they cum, but that’s not what Eddie’s here for.

            Eddie’s hand starts to grow adventurous, sliding down Richie’s bicep before moving inward, letting his fingertips briefly brush Richie’s thick black armpit hair, then slides over his ribs and over his spine, and finally settles on his lower back, reaching for his boxers, but he’s too short.

            Eddie pulls away from the kiss, panting in Richie’s face, “Why are you so god damn tall?” he grumbles, only able to slip his fingertips into Richie’s boxers.

            “Maybe you’re just too god damn short?” Richie shoots back with a smug smirk, but he shuffles up a little, bowing his spine so their hips are more aligned and Eddie can finally slip his hand fully into Richie’s boxers, palming Richie’s ass. “Is this supposed to be payback from earlier?” Richie asks with a smirk, “Because it’s _totally_ working, just the _worst_. Spaghetti hands on my ass, what a tragedy.”

            “You’re such a dick,” Eddie mumbles, gripping a little harder, pressing his thumb between Richie’s cheeks in an almost mirror image of what Richie had done earlier but without fabric acting as a barrier. Richie’s mouth falls open in surprise and a shuddering breath leaving him. “Does that… Does that feel good?” Eddie asks, eyes going heavy with lust. Richie drops his head against Eddie’s throat and moans when Eddie puts a bit more pressure, pushing against his hole.

            “Y-yeah, Eddie-baby,” Richie pants out, “Have you… ever touched yourself like this?” Eddie draws his thumb back, just resting his hand on Richie’s ass.

            “Yeah,” Eddie admits, scratching his fingers over Richie’s scalp with his other hand, “I um… might have done a little prep before I messaged you.” Richie groans and more firmly digs his forehead into Eddie’s throat.

            “Fucking hell, Eds.” Eddie slides his hand from Richie’s ass and rests it on Richie’s lower back then takes his fingers from Richie’s hair and covers his own face in embarrassment. Richie lifts his head, “That’s so so hot.” Richie swallows thickly and looks down Eddie’s chest, reaching down and running a flat palm over Eddie’s side. Eddie peeks out from between his fingers, watching Richie. He takes one of those deep breaths again that Richie had at one point meant Eddie was going to jump ship but is quickly becoming an indicator that Eddie is going to do something insanely brave that would undoubtedly drive Richie up the wall.

            Eddie closes his eyes and reaches for his boxers, squirming them down his hips a little awkwardly before finally slipping one of his feet free and pushing them all the way off with his freed foot. Richie wants to say he gave Eddie some privacy, a moment to get used to the feeling of being naked in front of another person without Richie ogling him. Sadly, Richie can’t. His eyes immediately lock on Eddie’s erection and his mouth floods with saliva. He needs his mouth on that at some point. Eddie would probably punch him if he admitted he expected a dick that would match Eddie’s dainty feet and he might be mentally high fiving himself because that’ll definitely stretch a few places quite nicely.

            “My d-dick is going to catch fire if you don’t stop staring at it like that,” Eddie tells him, aiming for flat and unimpressed and failing, finally having opened his eyes.

            Richie doesn’t look away from Eddie’s pink tip. “Dude, I _really_ wanna suck your dick.” Eddie sputters for a moment while Richie is trying not to drool, watching it stiffen under his gaze, giving away Eddie’s interest in the idea.

            “Did you seriously just call me fucking dude?” Eddie huffs, “God damn it, Richie.”

            “Did you seriously just miss the part where I said I wanted to suck your dick?” Richie shoots back, dragging his gaze up to Eddie’s face and smirking smugly. Richie’s smirk drops and his brows curve inward with concern when Eddie’s expression suddenly shudders. “Hey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Richie reassures him, stroking Eddie’s cheek softly, but Eddie doesn’t meet his eyes.

            “It’s not…,” Eddie stalls, reaching up and chewing on his thumb, looking all the world like a kicked puppy, “I don’t have… any more money.” It shouldn’t sting like it does, having the reality of the situation brought back to the forefront. He’s done this so many times, has even heard those exact words before, but it’s never _stung_ or made him feel heartbroken the way this does. Eddie doesn’t appear to be taking the reminder much better. Richie’s face softens and he leans in, planting a sweet kiss on Eddie’s lips.

            “Don’t worry about that,” Richie tells him softly, giving him another small peck that Eddie returns, “Just tell me what you wanna do, what you wanna try, whatever it is.” Richie has never done this, when someone told him they were broke, he sent them on their way as politely as possible. Richie isn’t even sure he’s ever offered what he’s offering to people he’s dated. “Anything.”

            “Are you _sure_?” Eddie asks softly, reaching up and stroking his fingers over Richie’s cheek, letting his finger slide over the soft spot behind Richie’s ear. Richie can see the doubt in his eyes even as he’s beginning to come back to himself.

            Richie leans in, knocking their foreheads together lightly, brushing their noses against one another. He cups Eddie’s jaw and brushes his thumb over Eddie’s chin. “Why don’t you ever trust me?” Richie asks with a small laugh.

            Eddie’s eyes are falling closed, leaning up into him despite their being no more space, the intimacy of their closeness and their makeshift cocoon pushing out the doubts. “I do,” Eddie breathes against his lips, nuzzling the tips of their noses together in a move that has butterflies running wild in his stomach. He has this beautiful boy laid out naked beneath him and fucking rubbing noses is what makes his legs feel like jelly. “I just… I want you _so much_ , Rich.”

            “Then,” Richie leans down until their lips are brushing lightly with every word, every _breath_ , making his lips tingle, “ _Take_ me already.” Eddie surges up and kisses him deeply, working their tongues together and drawing hot moans from them both, filling the air with slick noises and the sound of fabric sliding on Richie’s skin every time he shifts. Richie places a big palm on Eddie’s thigh, rubbing the heel of his hand into the muscle. “Can I?” Richie asks between kisses, teasing his fingers towards Eddie’s erection.

            Eddie tilts his hips towards Richie and grinds into him desperately, “Anything, anything,” Eddie pants, kissing down Richie’s cheek and nipping his sharp jaw line, “I trust you.” Richie groans, tilting his head to give Eddie more space to kiss and suck at his throat. Eddie’s teeth scrape Richie’s skin but doesn’t bite down, clearly uncertain about leaving hickeys. Richie reaches down and ghosts his finger over Eddie’s cock, making Eddie gasp and dig his fingers into Richie’s shoulders. He wraps his fingers more firmly around Eddie and gives an experimental dry pump, watching the skin drag under his finger. He groans, a sound pulled from deep in his chest, when Eddie’s hips jerk and Richie is forced to quickly look between Eddie’s cock and face while Eddie’s head drops back and his mouth falls open.

            Richie’s hips jerk, grinding into the V of Eddie’s crotch and he can already feel a damp spot forming where his dick is straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his boxers. Like Eddie can read Richie’s mind, he presses his lips to Richie’s ear and says, “Take them off,” while gently pushing at the waistband of Richie’s boxers, “I wanna see.” Richie shivers and sits up on his knees, unintentionally fucking up their sheet fort, causing the sheet to completely uncover Eddie’s upper half and covers Richie’s head like a cartoon ghost.

            Eddie laughs, covering his mouth, while Richie turns his head from side the side as if looking around, “Where’d ya go, Eds?” he asks and puts a hand above where his eyes would be if they were visibly, like someone looking through a crowd of people. Eddie laughs harder and Richie finally breaks, laughing and pulling the sheet off his head to reveal his even messier hair. Richie looks down at Eddie fondly, taking in his cute pink cheeks and happy face and the way he seems totally unconcerned about his nudity without Richie’s body or the sheet for cover. Richie grins while Eddie sits up, looking up at Richie from their new position, running his hands over Richie’s hips and slipping his thumbs into the waistband.

            “Hi,” Eddie greets with a small smile, tilting his head back and resting his chin on Richie’s abdomen.

            Richie chuckles and strokes the back on his finger down Eddie’s cheek, “Well hey there, Spaghetti Head.” Eddie bites his lip and the image it makes is one Richie wants to burn into his memory, especially when Eddie pulls back to look at the outline of Richie’s cock that’s almost eye-level and licks his lips. Richie opens his mouth to make some quip, mostly for his own sanity, but it dies a swift death when Eddie suddenly leans forward and drags his tongue firmly over the thin fabric from base to tip.

            Richie grips Eddie’s shoulder to keep from tipping over and gasps, hips jerking. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Richie huffs, dropping his head back, covering his face with his hand, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” Richie peeks through his fingers at Eddie who’s staring up at him with his usual doe eyes darkened and half lidded. Without breaking eye contact, Eddie tugs down. His eyes only flick away briefly when the elastic get caught on Richie’s tip. Richie reaches down and helps push his boxers the rest of the way down his thighs, shivering when the cold air hits him. Richie’s brows go high on his forehead when Eddie makes a desperate little noise in the back of his throat, eyes locked on Richie’s dick only an inch from his nose.

            “Holy shit,” Eddie whispers. Some of the boisterous confidence Richie had lost is coming back under Eddie’s awed gaze.

            “Like it?” Richie asks with a flirty grin, reaching down and gripping himself, in a display that has Eddie practically drooling. He seems to shake himself from his hypnotized state and his eyes snap up to Richie’s.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie asks, sounding almost angry, “You’re huge, no wonder people look passed that big fucking mouth.” Richie’s eyes widen and a grin splits his face.

            “HA! Eds gets off a good you! You know just what to say to make a girl feel special,” Richie sighs dreamily. Eddie rolls his eyes and flops back onto the bed, spreading his arms out at his sides. Richie takes in the sights before taking a second to kick his boxers off. He leans in and tracks his lips over Eddie’s collarbone and down his chest. Eddie shudders beneath him and buries his fingers into Richie’s messy curls. “You’re so fucking sexy, Eds, it’s ridiculous,” Richie mumbles nipping at a spot next to his belly button. Eddie’s muscles jump under his lips and Richie drags the flat of his tongue over them, Eddie’s fingers tighten and he gasps.

            “Sh’ up,” Eddie mumbles bashfully, eyes flicking from the top of Richie’s head and away shyly. Richie carefully watches Eddie’s face as he settles between Eddie’s thick thighs. He grips Eddie’s base. There’s some trepidation in Eddie’s features but there’s anticipation there more than anything. Something sharp and electric passes between them when Eddie sees him watching. Eddie licks his lip and scratches his fingers over Richie’s scalp and that’s all the permission he needs.

            Richie leans in and sucks the tip into his mouth smoothly. Eddie’s body grows rigid and a sharp gasp escapes him, his hold on Richie’s hair growing borderline painful, but Richie finds it only adds to the fire in his belly. Richie sinks down further, effortlessly pushing passed his gag reflex. Eddie’s back arches off the bed and hooks his leg on Richie’s shoulder. “Hn, Richie,” Eddie whimpers. Richie reaches up and grips one of Eddie’s wrists. Eddie makes a noise of surprise and his fingers begin to slacken as if to let go. Richie pulls off with a wet pop.

            Eddie looks fucking _wrecked_ already, flushed and panting, and it _does things_ to Richie. He reaches up and guides Eddie’s hand back into his hair then intertwines his fingers with Eddie’s other hand. “I got you, Eds,” Richie tells him softly. Eddie looks back at him with something in his eyes that’s deep and all-consuming that fills Richie with a terrifying unidentified emotion, so Richie ducks his head back down and takes Eddie down his throat until his nose presses to Eddie’s pubic bone and Eddie makes the prettiest sounds for him.

            Eddie suddenly presses his foot to Richie’s shoulder, “Mmm, R‘chie, stop,” Eddie gets out. Richie immediately pops off and look at Eddie with worry in his eyes. He reaches for his own face and habitually pushes at the bridge of his nose nervously, and is frustrated to be reminded he’s not wearing his glasses.

            “Wha’ wrong?” Richie asks.

            “Didn’ w-wanna cum,” Eddie pants out, melting into the mattress a little as he comes back from the edge. Richie sighs softly in relief and leans in to plant a soft kiss to Eddie’s stomach. He crawls up Eddie’s body and for good measure pulls the sheet along with him. He drapes it over them like they’d had it earlier and kisses Eddie’s panting lips softly. “You just had my dick in your mouth,” Eddie mumbles, more a fact than a complaint.

            “And there are so many more possibilities,” Richie teases and kisses him again, Eddie leans into it. He grabs a pillow and situates it under Eddie’s hips before sliding his hand down Eddie’s thigh once he’s confident enough time has passed for Eddie’s sensitivity to go down a little. He presses his lips to the shell of Eddie’s ear. “You think you can take my fingers?” Richie asks softly, enjoying the small shivers that he can feel racing through Eddie’s body.

            “Yeah,” Eddie replies breathlessly. He hooks his legs on Richie’s hips, angling his own hips towards Richie. Richie groans and shoves his face against Eddie’s neck, sliding his hand down further to grip one of Eddie’s soft butt cheeks firmly. He lets his pinky slip between Eddie’s cheeks and makes a noise like a wounded animal. It’s not an attractive sound. He knows it. But there’s lube on his finger, evidence of Eddie’s earlier prep, and he might be dying.

            “I’m going to fucking jizz myself, Eds, I swear,” Richie grumbles, sounding almost annoyed, “And then I’ll never be able to show my face outside again.” Eddie presses his face to the side of Richie’s head, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, and snickers.

            “Yeah, premature ejaculation is what’ll turn you into a hermit, not every other moment of your life,” Eddie replies sarcastically, a smile in his voice as he firmly buries his face into Richie’s fluffy tangled curls, “Sure.” Richie grins against Eddie’s skin and presses a soft kiss to his pulse point, pressing in even closer. A warmth radiating from Richie’s stomach leaves his heart painfully full. Eddie is so _perfect_.

            Richie lets his middle finger slip between Eddie’s cheeks, letting it circle Eddie’s hole. He just means to tease him for a bit, but when he applies a bit of pressure, his finger tip slips in with ease. Richie and Eddie let out twin gasps. “Shit, did you only use your fingers?” Richie asks against Eddie’s throat. He wants to pull away and watch himself work Eddie open, but Eddie is holding onto him tightly with his arms and legs and there’s no way Richie is going to push him away.

            “T-Toys,” Eddie whisper right up against Richie’s ear, shuddering and whining as Richie’s finger easily pushes in all the way to the last knuckle. Eddie’s thighs are jumping and twitching against Richie’s hips and despite usually being a very visual person, he can definitely live with this.

            “R-really?” Richie asks with a poor excuse for a laugh, fucking his finger in and out of the wet heat gently, “Color me impressed.”

            “I-hmm I’m a 22 year old gay v-virgin with t-tuh-hnn-,” Eddie’s words cut off on a moan, arching his back as Richie easily fucks a second finger in without slowing the rhythm he’s built up, “Too m-much free time.”

            “Mmmm, I bet you looked so pretty,” Richie hums against his throat, tone husky, then bites down on the spot of skin closest to him, making Eddie hiss between his teeth. “What do you have? As you know,” Richie brushes the tip of his nose over Eddie’s throat in apology, “I’m kind of an idiot, need you to paint me a picture.”

            Eddie fucks his hips down on Richie’s fingers and makes this high pitched breathy noise that sounds like something someone would imitate from a porno, but Eddie is nothing but genuine and all Richie wants is to be pulling those sounds from Eddie with his cock. For a moment Richie thinks Eddie isn’t going to play into his teasing, but Richie _really_ needs to stop underestimating him.

            “A-A plug, mnnhh a dildo,” Eddie struggles to get out, gasping against Richie’s ear, his words slurring together. Richie moans against Eddie’s neck encouragingly.

            “Yeah?” he asks, twisting his fingers. Eddie’s fingers curl into Richie’s hair and his heels dig into Richie’s back, cursing loudly. “Bet you take them so _good_ ,” Richie praises him, “Just like you’ll take my cock.” Eddie whimpers and loosens his hold on Richie, enough that they can move back and look at one another and Richie is in awe. Eddie is _breathtaking_. In the time that Richie couldn’t see his face, Eddie’s pupils had grown large and sweat had formed on his skin, plastering his bangs to his forehead, and his plush lips are swollen, red, and hanging open with halted breaths and moans spilling out of them. Richie stalls his movements, staring at Eddie’s blissed out expression.

            Eddie whines and jerks his hips, desperate for movement. His glazed eyes clear a bit now that he’s not being overwhelmed with sensation, realizing Richie is just watching him. Eddie reaches up and cups Richie’s face, pulling him down into a sweet kiss. “More,” he whispers against Richie’s lips and how could Richie turn down such a sweet request.

            He sits back and grabs the lube sitting off to his right, popping the cap, and adding a bit more to his waiting fingers before pressing a third finger in along the first two. It’s the first time he gets any real resistance. It’s also the first time he gets to watch Eddie take his fingers and it’s fucking _glorious_.

            Eddie’s back curves, hips squirming tantalizing, and his head digging back into the pillow, revealing the long expanse of Eddie’s beautiful mole splattered throat. Richie hooks his bottom lip in his teeth, pressing his fingers as deep as they’ll go. Eddie moans and whines desperately, reaching back and gripping the fabric of the pillow under his head and digging his fingers into the forearm of Richie’s free hand. “ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie gasps breathlessly, trying to squirm his hips.

            Richie slides his free hand up Eddie’s chest and rests his palm over Eddie’s long throat at the same moment that he begins wiggling his fingers deep inside Eddie. Richie watches, mesmerized, as Eddie’s eyes roll, a line of pre-cum pools on Eddie’s abdomen, and he feels Eddie become insanely tight on his fingers. “ _Fuck_ , Eddie-Baby,” Richie whines, “How are you even real?”

            “Richie, _please_ ,” Eddie begs. Richie stops his torturous wiggling and starts up a gentle in and out tempo.

            “What do you want, Baby?” he asks, reaching up and pushing Eddie’s sweaty bangs from his face.

            “I’m- I’m ready,” Eddie promises, “Put it in.” Richie leans in to kiss him softly.

            “You’re a dangerous man, Eddie-Baby,” Richie quietly confesses the truth he’s been holding close to his chest since they met. He knows it just sounds like a line said in the heat of the moment, but it encompasses so many things he can’t say.

            He slips his fingers free and sits back, moving quickly and expertly, not wanting to give Eddie time to come back to himself too much and overthink things. Richie quickly rips the nearby condom open and slides it on before slicking it up with extra lube just to be safe. It takes less than a minute before Richie is back in Eddie’s space, kissing him, and gently nudging the head of his dick against Eddie’s entrance.

            Eddie’s arms and legs go back around Richie’s neck and waist immediately, kissing him back. “I gotta… I _gotta_ ask, Eds,” Richie says softly, “Are you sure?”

            Eddie slides his hands down to cup Richie’s face, stroking his thumbs over Richie’s sharp cheekbones, “Yes,” Eddie replies, “I want you.”

            Richie nods, nudging his tip a little more insistently but doesn’t push in yet. He presses one more kiss to Eddie’s lips. “I want you to relax as much as you can, take some deep breaths,” Richie advises him gently, “And don’t hesitate to tell me to stop if you want me to.” Eddie nods. “I want you to close your eyes and take 3 big breaths for me, okay?” Richie tells him, his voice soft and soothing. Eddie gives him a strange look but Richie rolls his eyes, “Just do it, stubborn ass.” Eddie huffs but closes his eyes and lets Richie guide him through it.

            Richie watches Eddie’s chest rise and fall in something much steadier and his body relaxes into the bed. Richie presses forward and Eddie’s mouth falls open, his body immediately tensing up. “Ssshhh, breathe,” Richie soothes, pressing kisses all over Eddie’s face. Eddie takes a slow deep breath. Richie pushes in and lets out a shaky breath, the tip of his dick being squeezed mercilessly in Eddie’s tight body. He swallows thickly, “You- you okay?”

            Eddie tries to speak, but he can’t get the words out and nods, eyes squeezed shut. “Look at me, Baby,” Richie tells him softly, cupping Eddie’s cheek with one hand while keeping himself propped up with the other. Eddie forces his eyes open and looks up at Richie, his breath slightly off beat. Eddie leans into the kiss that Richie goes in for and Richie experimentally rocks his hips.

            Eddie’s mouth drops open and a shuddery moan escapes him ending on what almost sounds like a noise of confusion. Richie keeps up his gentle rocking, driving himself deeper and deeper in small increments, shocked by how responsive Eddie is. Eddie’s hands fall to Richie’s biceps, gripping them, searching for something to ground himself. “Oh,” Eddie moans breathlessly once Richie has worked himself in about half way, his eyes falling closed again albeit looking far less pained this time. With each forward thrust, Eddie keeps letting out those pretty breathless ‘Oh’s as if every centimeter of Richie’s cock is bringing him closer to some answer he’d forgotten. Before either of them knows it, Richie’s balls are pressing firmly to Eddie’s ass.

            Richie stills, giving them both a minute to pant heavily and adjust to the sensation. Richie swallows thickly and asks, “How’s it feel?”

            Eddie moans in lieu of words, grinding his hips in slow circle. Richie’s head falls forward, hanging between his shoulders, and his hips give an aborted jerk. “ _Shit_ , baby,” Richie groans, rocking his hips. He looks back up to meet Eddie’s blissed out gaze, “You were _made_ to take my cock.”

            “God, R’chie,” Eddie whimpers, clinging to him, “Move, p- _please_.” Richie doesn’t need to be told twice. Richie reaches up, slipping his hand out from under the sheet, and grabs the headboard for leverage and keeps his other hand firmly on the mattress to keep himself up. He pulls his hips back an inch or two and pushes back in slowly. Eddie whines and digs his heel into Richie’s back.

            Richie slowly works himself up to a faster pace that has Eddie shaking and moaning. Without hands to touch Eddie, Richie leans in and kisses all along Eddie’s face. Eddie makes valiant efforts to return Richie’s kisses when he’d go over Eddie’s lips, but he’s too wrapped up in the sensation to keep down his desperate cries. It’s just… insane.

            Richie pulls out until only his tip is left before pressing in with one smooth thrust. “Yeah,” Eddie moans against Richie’s ear, legs quaking. Richie takes the review to heart. He lets go of the headboard to grip under Eddie’s knee, adjusting their position slightly, before thrusting back in. Eddie’s next breath chokes off and his legs start shaking. Richie does it again, working up a rhythm that has his muscles screaming. He’s only able to keep it up because of the endorphins flooding his system and the “uhn, uhn” sounds Eddie makes every time he gets the angle right.

            Richie clenches his eyes shut and uses every trick in the book to keep from cumming before Eddie. He’d reach for Eddie’s dick to finish the job, but he’s sort of afraid if he moves, he’ll cramp up. He makes the mistake of peeking his eyes open, catching sight of Eddie completely falling apart beneath him, the sight nearly sending him over the edge. He watches Eddie’s hand travel down between the bodies, gripping himself and giving quick messy strokes. The sight is _obscene_ and he’s straining so hard to keep from cumming that it’s starting to hurt, but he wants to see Eddie come _so bad_. His eyes flick up to Eddie’s face and freeze there, watching Eddie watch him. Eddie’s eyes squeeze closed and his mouth falls open in a desperate cry. Richie is so happy he didn’t look away.

            Richie moans, his hips stuttering when Eddie flutters around him. He pulls out and sits up on his knees, letting Eddie’s falls from his waist. Richie watches Eddie stroke his way through his orgasm and quickly grabs himself and strokes, keeping a firm grip and a fast pace. He groans and pants, his eyes running all over Eddie’s trembling body. He catches Eddie’s glazed blissed out eyes and gasps. His hips jerk forward into his fist, his head falling back with a drawn out groan as he finishes, fisting his cock. He sits on his ankles and pants heavily.

            Eddie lays flat out on the bed, eyes closed, and hand resting on his rapidly rising and falling chest, looking fucked out and practically glowing. He’s fucking gorgeous and Richie wants nothing more than to pull him close and pass out, but it’ll get gross quickly, so Richie forces himself up. He drags himself to the bathroom on Bambi legs, tosses his condom, and grabs a wet washcloth and goes back to Eddie. Richie wipes him down quickly and puts Eddie’s briefs back on him while he doses. Richie slips on his own boxers and crawls in beside Eddie, pulling the sheet around them.

            Richie carefully presses up against Eddie, wrapping his arm around Eddie's loose limbed frame. Eddie turns into him, pressing his face against Richie’s chest. Richie smiles and strokes Eddie’s hair, rearranging it a little to make it less crazy. There’s a few moments of bliss where Eddie is warm in his arms and his eyes grow heavy, but then Eddie starts to shake. There’s a sniffling noise and then Eddie is pulling away and shuffling to the edge of the bed.

            “Eds?” Richie asks, his brows bowing in confused concern and his stomach dropping like lead. Eddie picks up his pants and pulls them on in sharp mechanical movements. “Eddie?” Richie crawls the edge of the bed while Eddie stands to pull on his shirt.

            “I… I gotta go,” Eddie finally speaks, his voice wobbly, without looking at Richie as he bends down to grab his sneakers and socks.

            “Whoa, whoa,” Richie says, trying to sound calm but there’s panic seeping into his voice. He stands with his hands reaching out, “Eds, what’s the matter?”

            “ _Stop_ ,” Eddie’s voice comes out sharp, sharper than either of them expect and Richie freezes while Eddie’s voice softens, “Stop… calling me that.” Richie is so lost. Eddie doesn’t even stop to put his shoes on, just heads for the door barefoot.

            “Wait!”

            “I’m- I’m so sorry, Richie,” Eddie chokes out as he steps out, briefly looking over his shoulder at Richie, giving Richie a glimpse of Eddie’s crumpled tear stained face. The door closes and automatically locks behind him. Richie stares at the closed door with his hand reaching out, his heart in tiny pieces somewhere in his gut, wearing nothing but his boxers and a sheet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man this was so extra. Length. Angst. Sex scene. So extra. I don't know what happened. But here it is.
> 
> Please leave me comments, I like hearing from people!!


	3. &

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I always post these in the dead of night?

            This isn’t the first time Eddie has wondered how this has become his life. He’s standing in the small refrigerated food aisle of the CVS he frequents. He’s been here a thousand times with a list in his mother’s chicken scratch bulleting her prescriptions and a few groceries. This time is no different. Except that it is. He’s made it this far with the intention of grabbing some eggs and a small carton of milk, but he’s frozen, his lungs are tight, his fingers are shaky, and his eyes are rapidly pooling with tears he can’t control.

            Eddie has felt off for the 2 and half weeks since he saw Richie for the last time, drifting between horrible self-loathing regret and certainty that he made the right choice, masochistically looking at all the selfies and little videos Richie had taken on Eddie’s phone. More than once in that time he’s had to physically keep the phone out of his hands, afraid he’d give in and message Richie when he was at his lowest. Eddie is in love with him. He can’t pretend anymore and that’s why he can never see him again.

            A sob bubbles up in his throat, he clenches the list in his hand and bites his lip tight, successfully keeping it down. There’s almost no one around but he feels like there are eyes all around him and the lights are so _bright_ -

            “ _Bev_ ,” a stranger’s voice suddenly hisses off to his right. His head jerks around, his eyes wide, tears spilling freely down his face. A young red headed woman is standing only a foot away from him, concern etched into her face, and her hand reaching while a handsome man with a stocky build stands a few feet behind her looking split between nervous and sympathetic. Eddie didn’t even know they were there.

            “Are you okay?” the woman asks in a gentle voice devoid of judgement. He shrinks in on himself, looking away with shame and wiping futilely at his cheeks with trembling hands.

            “I’m… I’m fine,” Eddie replies, his voice smaller and more broken than he would have hoped for, “S-sorry, I’m okay, th-thanks.” He expects the duo to leave, maybe the man urging the woman along, they’ve done their good deed and they can feel good knowing they’ve tried. But they don’t. The man has taken a step closer and his expression has settled on concern. The red head looks over her shoulder, making eye contact with the man in a brief wordless conversation, before reaching over and grabbing Eddie’s wrist.

            Eddie’s eyes widen in shock but his brain feels like it’s dragging through molasses and before he really registers what’s happening, the woman is pulling him towards the bathrooms in the back of the store, confidence evident in her stride.

            “ _Beverly_!” the man calls in a harsh whisper, nervously looking around while she pushes the door to the men’s bathroom open without concern. Luckily, it’s empty, not that Eddie thinks that would stop this stranger – Beverly. Beverly leads him to the sinks and lets him go in favor of grabbing a number of paper towels. She wets them with warm water and begins gently dabbing his face. The man nervously stands near the door, acting as a look out in case someone tries to come in.

            Eddie knows this is weird, he should be scared, terrified, that these people he doesn’t even know have manhandled him where they want him while he’s vulnerable, but instead he wants to give into the care. A small whimper slips from his throat against his will. Beverly’s careful cleaning stills in response, but continues when Eddie’s leans into the paper towel. It takes a moment but Eddie finally gets himself under control. Beverly does one more swipe of her damp towel and tosses it then grabs a fresh dry one. She lifts it to Eddie’s face but he grabs it before she can continue her efforts despite how much he’s enjoying her doting.

            “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice scratchy as he dabs at his face. Beverly frowns and eyes Eddie’s greasy hair and wrinkled clothes.

            “What’s your name?” she asks instead of acknowledging the apology.

            He mulls over all the things his mother has spewed about stranger danger for only a second before he says, “Eddie.” Beverly smiles softly, making her already pretty face even more beautiful.

            “I’m Beverly,” she introduces, “And this is Ben,” she gestures at the man who gives him a small smile and a little wave when Eddie looks at him. Beverly’s face softens back into concern. “Now, who do I need to beat up?” she asks, her lips tugging up at the corners to show she’s joking. Eddie can’t help but smile a little at her, before it falls again.

            “It’s… dumb… I’m being dumb,” Eddie mumbles more to himself, shaking his head. He unclenches the fist that had a death grip on his list and frowns at the mangled note. Beverly frowns. She looks at Ben again, another silent conversation passing between them. It’s clear they’ve known each other a long time.

            “We’re… on our way to meet up with our friends,” Beverly says slowly as she drags her eyes from Ben and back to Eddie, leaning her hip against the sink counter.

            “How about you come with us?” Ben finishes for her. Eddie stares between them with wide eyes. Ben gives him a disarming smile. “They can be jerks sometimes but they’re great, I’m sure they won’t mind.” Beverly’s smile is blinding as she looks at Ben with pride shining in her eyes. Beverly reaches over with only a small amount of hesitance before weaving her fingers with Eddie’s, gripping his hand tight. Her palm is soft but her fingers have callouses and there’s a Band-Aid on her index finger. He feels grounded by the hold.

            Eddie can still hear his mother’s shrill voice yelling at him when her crocodile tears didn’t work to pull him from his funk. He remembers the terrified numbness he’d felt when he grabbed the list and his wallet and bolted for the door. He squeezes Beverly’s hand back and nods. Ben comes over and pats his shoulder with a smile. Beverly takes a moment to fix Eddie’s neglected hair and straightens out his clothes a little before leading him out into the store. They grab the cigarettes Beverly had come in to get and walk the few blocks it takes to get to the cozy bar that Ben and Bev’s friends are at. The entire walk Ben and Beverly talk to each other in a companionable way, including Eddie where they can without putting all of the attention on him, and Beverly doesn’t let go of his hand once. It’s nice and he suddenly wishes more than ever that he’d showered.

            The moment they enter the bar, Eddie reflectively squeezes Beverly’s hand tightly, taking in the small crowd of people filling the space. He forces his hand to relax, afraid to hurt her, but Beverly squeezes his hand back fiercely while the two friends scan the crowd. Ben seems to spot who they’re looking for and grabs Beverly’s other hand, leading her and Eddie towards the bar counter where a smartly dressed man with carefully coiled spring curls is chuckling at something a man with short ginger, almost identical in shade to Beverly’s, has said. The ginger haired man is the first to notice them.

            He looks up and smiles, lighting his face up in a lovely way. His eyes drift to Eddie and Eddie can almost hear the confused noise he must be making based on the way the red haired man’s face pinches. Eddie’s eyes hit the floor before the curly haired man has the chance to meet his eyes. When they reach the bar, Beverly lightly knocks her shoulder against his. He lifts his head with some hesitation.

            “This pretty boy is Stan,” Beverly introduces, gesturing to the sharp eyed man in front of them, “And that one over there is Bill.” Stan’s eyes are trained on Eddie, flicking over his greasy hair, bloodshot eyes, messy clothes, and the tight grip he has on Beverly’s hand. Bill is giving him an open easy smile and rolling his eyes as Beverly.

            “Oh, ‘th-that one o-oh-over th-there’, thanks,” Bill teases. Beverly grins at him.

            “And this is Eddie, he’ll be joining us,” Beverly says with an air of finality. She pats the bar stool next to Eddie in offering. Eddie’s eyes flick up to Stan nervously, but he decides to just do as she says and slips in beside Stan, careful not to let their legs brush.

            “Beverly,” Stan says without taking his sharp eyes off of Eddie, “Where did you pick this one up from?” Eddie anxiously rolls a bar napkin between his fingers, his eyes trained on the countertop. Beverly’s expression sours.

            “Don’t be a dick, Stan,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. Stan’s eyes finally flick away from Eddie to land on her and the only shift in his expression is an uptick in his brows. Bill and Ben watch the two nervously. Beverly slips into the small space between Eddie and Stan so she acts as a physical barrier. Eddie shifts to the very edge of the seat and wonders if this was all a massive mistake. “He’s having a hard time, _be nice_ ,” she demands in a harsh whisper. Her face softens a little, “Just trust me.” Stan stares at her for a long moment but whatever passes between them seems to be enough because she moves from between them and settles on the seat on Eddie’s other side while Ben sits beside her and they start chatting.

            Eddie doesn’t lift his head but he can feel Stan’s eyes on him. Stan lifts his finger, eyes on the bartender who comes to him immediately. “What would you like?” Stan’s voice unexpectedly turns the question on Eddie whose head jerks up in surprise. Stan stares at him expectantly.

            “Uh,” Eddie mumbles, glancing at Stan’s fancy margarita and the simple beer Bill is sipping from, “Um, just a ginger ale please, um, thank you.”

            “I’d like a ginger ale, a strawberry daiquiri, and a vodka and coke,” Stan tells the bartender who nods along, “Thank you.” The bartender moves on to make their drinks and take more orders. Eddie continues to roll the napkin between his fingers over and over again. Stan props his elbow on the counter and rests his chin on his fist, watching his fiddling. “What do you do?” Stan asks him.

            Eddie swallows thickly and shakes his head, “I live with my mom,” he admits quietly, voice laced with shame, “I spend a lot of time taking care of her.” It’s a futile attempt to make it sound less pathetic than it is and he knows it. Stan’s expression doesn’t change.

            “Where did you meet Beverly?” Stan asks next. Eddie chews on his bottom lip.

            “The CVS down the street,” he says quietly, self-consciously wiping under his eye as if he might find evidence of his breakdown, “She helped me out.” Eddie risks a look at Stan and he’s surprised to find Stan’s face has softened considerably. A moment of silence passes between them before Stan straightens in his seat.

            “Well, you must be hungry,” he says, accepting the drinks when they’re set down before him and passes Ben and Beverly their drinks before sliding Eddie his ginger ale, “This place isn’t known for its food but even this place can’t fuck up a basket of fries.” Eddie smiles softly, his image of Stan as rigid and frightening beginning to melt away. He requires that Eddie use his hand sanitizer first, but Stan shares a basket between him, Eddie, and Bill, and Eddie is surprised to find himself loosening up, chatting with the group with an ease he’s only ever felt with one person.

            About half a basket of fries later and a refill of ginger ale later, Bill checks his phone, not for the first time, and leans towards Stan. Eddie catches, “Th-they’re almost h-heh-here.”

            Stan’s expression turns momentarily grave and he mutters, “Took them long enough,” which earns him a glare and a nudge from Bill. Eddie wants to ask what’s going on but he doesn’t want to intrude. It turns out he doesn’t need to wait long.

            A few moments later a man moves quickly through the crowd and wraps an arm around Bill and Stan’s shoulders, shocking Eddie a little by pressing a quick kiss to Bill’s lips and then Stan’s. That shock is nothing compared to the way his stomach drops when he realizes he _recognizes_ the attractive black man who’s hurriedly telling Bill and Stan, “He’s right behind me, go easy on him.” Things are starting to click in his head.

            “You’re _Stan_ ,” Eddie breathes without realizing the words have left his lips. Stan looks at Eddie in confusion then with concern when he sees the way Eddie’s face has paled. The man, **_Mike_** , his name is _Mike_ , looks up curiously, before his mouth drops open in recognition. Eddie jerks to his feet, drawing the attention of Bill, Beverly, and Ben. Eddie and Mike both open their mouths as if to speak. Eddie has no idea what he plans to say, but it doesn’t matter because a new voice interrupts them both.

            “The king of comedy has arrived, please keep your tits in your shirts and your dick your pants.” Eddie’s heart stops in his chest and his throat constricts. Mike closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, bracing himself. Richie squeezes through the two tables nearby and Eddie _can’t fucking breath_.

            Richie isn’t looking much better than Eddie. Oh, he looks more put together than Eddie, but Eddie can see the greasy messy quality of his hair, the creasing of an unwashed shirt, and the way his sharp cheekbones look even sharper than Eddie remember, like he hasn’t been eating enough. But god, he’s still beautiful and it _hurts_. Richie sees Eddie and his eyes widen, huge, behind his glasses. His _glasses_. Eddie has never seen him with his glasses and somehow that adds another layer to his torment. They’re as dorky as Richie always lamented, thick and not particularly stylish, but so fucking cute. **_Fuck._**

            “Eds?” Richie sounds as breathless as Eddie feels. This was such a _mistake_. Stan is staring at them with dawning understanding.

            “Is this… is _this_ the guy?” Stan asks, his voice trembling with shock or maybe rage, Eddie doesn’t care, because his vision is starting to go a little spotty and the dim light of the bar is suddenly way too much.

            “I can’t-,” Eddie takes a wheezy breath in, “I can’t breathe.” Eddie moves away, pushing through the space, desperately heading for the door of the bar.

            “Hey! Wait!” Stan calls. Eddie vaguely acknowledges a small scuffle behind him and loud overlapping voices, but the walls are starting to feel too close so he can’t care right now. He pushes through the door, the small bell above the door jingling, and he takes a large gulping breath of the crisp night air. He wraps his arms around his abdomen, folding over his arms, and a sob pushes up his chest. He hears a jingle of the bell from behind him and he quietly prays it’s just someone heading home that will give him a weird look and move on, but Eddie doesn’t have that kind of luck.

            “Eds,” Richie voice says quietly from behind him, it sounds off, but Eddie doesn’t understand why, “You gotta breathe.” Eddie hates himself because even now his entire being is screaming at him to go to Richie, embrace him, and breathe in what Eddie realistically knows probably smells a bit like stale clothes, BO, and excessive amounts of cologne to cover it all up.

            “I’m-,” Eddie gasps in a wheezy breath, “I’m _trying_.” There’s silence that’s only filled by the crunch of passing cars and Eddie’s wheezing and he thinks maybe Richie left him alone. Then there are footsteps and big familiar hands on his shoulders, guiding him to the bench just outside the bar, and pushes him to sit. Eddie goes willingly and curls up, folding in half and taking slow deep breaths. Richie stands beside him before settling down next to him, careful to keep them from touching. Richie sighs, leaning back against the bar wall, his head thunking against the brick lightly.

            Eddie’s breathing slowly evens out. Richie huffs a poor excuse for a laugh, “You really know how to surprise a guy, Eds,” Richie says. Eddie unfurls himself, leaning back against the wall, mirroring Richie. He turns his head, the need to look at Richie outweighing his own self-preservation. He drinks his profile in. Richie must feel his stare because he turns his head. Richie drinks him in right back.

            “How are you?” Eddie asks quietly, unsure of what else to say.

            Richie’s face contorts in pain. “Fuck, Eds,” he groans, turning away and covering his face with his hand. He takes his glasses off and massages the bridge of his nose. Eddie turns his face away and down, gnawing at his bottom lip.

            “What?”

            Richie puts his glasses back on and looks at him again. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, before taking a noisy breath and asking, “Why did you runaway?” Eddie weaves his fingers together in his lap anxiously. “I thought… Did I do something you didn’t like?” Richie asks, his voice betraying his pain, “Did I _hurt_ you?” Eddie’s head whips around to stare at Richie and finds his face pinches, and Eddie realizes Richie has been _stewing_ , over _Eddie_. Richie thinks he _hurt_ Eddie.

            At his best, Eddie thought Richie didn’t even think of him, at worst he hated him or thought he was a freak, but Richie thinks he did something _wrong_. Eddie is such an _asshole_. Eddie grabs Richie’s forearm tightly, “ _No_ , no Richie, you didn’t do anything bad,” Eddie tells him, desperate to make Richie believe him. Richie glances briefly down at Eddie’s grip before settling on Eddie’s face, his eyes wide and not entirely believing. “Richie… it was…,” Eddie says softly, looking for the right word, before breathing out, “Amazing.”

            Richie appears to physically relax, if only a little. Eddie stares down at his grip on Richie’s arm, fixated on the warmth and the soft dark hairs under his palms. His thumb strokes over a freckle and Richie breathes in sharply, but doesn’t pull away. “Why did you run, Eds?” Richie asks again, his voice soft but tight.

            Eddie doesn’t look at him, he can’t, when he says, “It hurt to know you didn’t love me.” Richie’s forearm flexes as he clenches his fists and Eddie slowly pulls his hands away, resting them in his lap again. He feels strangely calm. “Because _I_ do,” he says it like it’s a fact, nodding along to his words before looking Richie in the eyes. He clenches his jaw and steels himself, “I love you, Richie.”

            Eddie really doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe it makes him a jackass for always thinking the worst of Richie, but the truth is there’s a part of Eddie that still thinks he’s too good to be true and it’ll turn out everything Eddie knows about him was just a character he put on while they were together. When he looks, Richie’s mouth is hanging open and his magnified eyes are huge and vulnerable.

            “Eds,” Richie says, voice cracking, “Eds, Eds, Eds.” He reaches over, his hand hangs in the air for a moment before settling it on Eddie’s cheek. Eddie leans into it immediately and Richie’s next breath shudders out of him. Eddie’s throat clenches and his eyes sting as he reaches up to cover the back of Richie’s hand with his own, curling his small fingers around it.

            “I’m so sorry, Richie,” he says softly. Richie barks out a laugh of surprise.

            “Why?” Richie asks, cupping Eddie’s other cheek, cradling his face, “Why the _fuck_ are you apologizing?”

            “I put you through all this _bullshit_ ,” Eddie spits the word out, “And now I’m putting _this_ on you.”

            Richie stares at Eddie in disbelief, “How can you be such a fucking idiot?” he asks incredulously, shaking Eddie’s head back and forth quickly until Eddie’s eyeballs are practically vibrating in his head.

            “H-hey!” Eddie yells, offended and dizzy, smacking at Richie’s shoulder until Richie stops shaking him. “What the hell, Rich!?”

            Richie huffs and pulls Eddie forward and plants a firm passionate kiss to Eddie’s lips. Eddie gasps softly. Richie pulls away. “Such an idiot,” Richie mumbles, expression dazed. Eddies pushes Richie’s hands aside and wraps his arms around Richie’s neck.

            “Shut up,” Eddie whispers, pulling Richie back in for another kiss, taking his time to savor Richie’s lips. Richie locks his arms around Eddie’s hips. The angle is awkward and Eddie makes a frustrated noise in his throat before boldly crawling into Richie’s lap, straddling his hips. Richie sighs contentedly, running his hands up Eddie’s back, working their tongues together. Someone in a passing car wolf whistles and honks their horn. The two jerk apart in surprise. Eddie flushes in embarrassment but doesn’t move out of Richie’s space.

            Richie chuckles, running a hand up into Eddie’s hair. Eddie looks down at Richie, noting the bags under his eyes. He strokes his thumb under Richie’s eye gently while Richie stares up at him with a soft smile. “I’ve been going crazy, Eds.”

            “Me too,” Eddie admits. He presses himself closer, shoving his face into Richie’s neck, hugging him tight. Richie hugs him back, fisting the back of Eddie’s shirt. Richie’s heavy cologne stings his nose, but he presses his face closer. Distantly Eddie hears the bell above the bar’s door jingle, he figures it’s another customer leaving, but then he hears Bill’s voice.

            “Y-Yuh-You Okay?” Bill asks, eyeing their position curiously. Eddie reluctantly lifts his head, looking nervously between them. Bill seems surprised to find Richie with a big smile on his face.

            “Yeah, Big Bill, I’m good,” Richie tells him, sounding nothing but genuine. Eddie can’t help but lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek, making Richie laugh quietly and squeeze Eddie’s hips affectionately.

            “You s-sh-should tell St-St-Stan that,” Bill advises him, “Mike had to f-fuh-physically hold him b-back.” Richie sighs, knocking his head against the wall with a groan while Eddie crawls off Richie’s lap. Eddie shoots Bill another nervous glance, he can’t imagine he has a very good standing with Richie’s friends anymore. Bill doesn’t seem particularly hostile but he’s eyeing Eddie with a new found curiosity.

            Richie plants his hands on his knees with a “Hup,” as he stands and heads towards the door that Bill is still holding open. He pauses in the doorway when Eddie just continues to stand on the sidewalk. “You comin’?” Richie asks, holding a hand out.

            “Uh,” Eddie mumbles, rolling the hem of his shirt between his fingers anxiously, “You should talk to them, I’d be a distraction.”

            “If you think after all _that_ I’m letting you out of my sight, you’re a bigger idiot than a thought,” Richie says with a wicked grin, wigging his fingers invitingly. Eddie shoots Richie a sharp look but reaches out, takes his hand, loving the way Richie’s big palm engulfs his hand, and goes to his side.

            “If you call me an idiot one more time, I’m going to drop kick you,” Eddie warns. Richie tosses his head back and laughs, it’s a beautiful sight, leading Eddie inside.

            “I’d like to see you try with those cute little legs,” Richie teases, pinching Eddie’s cheek with his free hand. Eddie slaps Richie’s hand away and jerks his knee up, aiming for Richie’s hip. Richie yelps, jerking away, and laughs. He releases Eddie’s hand and instead wraps his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling Eddie close to his side. Eddie huffs in annoyance but feels happier than he has in weeks and he can’t help the smile that stretches over his face. He wraps his arm around Richie’s waist and presses his cheek to Richie’s pec. Richie definitely needs a new shirt. Unbeknownst to them, Bill watches the whole interaction with a thoughtful expression as he trails behind them.

            When they get closer, Stan is still sitting in his seat, but Mike is sitting beside him with a firm hand on his shoulder, and Beverly and Ben are standing in front of them while they appear to all be in a heated discussion. Eddie grips the fabric of Richie’s shirt near Richie’s hip, his heart rate rocketing back up. Despite having Richie at his side again, he can’t help but feel _sad_. He thought he was really starting to make friends with them, his first _real_ friends, and now they probably thought he was a crazy asshole who’s been making their friend miserable. Mike catches sight of them and his eyes widen in surprise.

            His hand must’ve gone lax because Stan suddenly shoots up, glaring at Mike and straightening his shirt before he realizes all of his friends aren’t paying attention to him anymore. His sharp eyes turn on Richie and Eddie. Bill moves around them, grabbing his half full beer, and slides into the seat Eddie vacated beside Stan. He seems wholly unconcerned compared to his tense friends as he runs his index finger over the mouth of his beer.

            “What the _hell_ is going on, Richie?” Stan asks, glancing at Eddie briefly before fixing his eyes on Richie.

            “A whole whole lot, Stanny-boy,” Richie says with a grin. Stan frowns in confusion. He clenches his eyes closed and takes a harsh breath through his nose.

            “I need you to stop fucking around for 30 god damn seconds,” Stan says, voice tight with frustration, “Because I have had to watch you mope around and be miserable for 3 fucking weeks and you wouldn’t _tell_ me anything and now this _guy_ shows up and- and what the fuck, Richie?” Even Eddie can see that Stan has been worried out of his mind. He’s sure they all have based on the nods of agreement he sees from the others, but Stan has had a front row seat to whatever funk Richie has been in and Eddie feels insanely guilty. He’s too much of a coward to speak right now but he hopes it’s clear on his face. He glances over at Richie and is relieved to find that his face has morphed into one of guilt and remorse.

            Richie turns his head and meets Eddie’s eyes, “Can I tell them?” he asks. Eddie’s eyes widen. Richie wants… his permission? The way they met, the things they did, it all revealed something personal, things Eddie finds shameful, about himself, and Richie is asking him if it’s okay. Richie never gave out his friends’ names intentionally, he said he did it out of respect for them, not giving personal information about them, but he did tell him other things and Eddie knows they’re close and Richie hasn’t told them about him, not even after they believed they’d never see each other again.

            Eddie just feels so… _grateful_ and maybe a little terrified. He loves Richie _so much_. He wants to kiss Richie so badly, but he figures that’s not a good idea, so instead he tightens the arm on Richie’s waist and presses his face more firmly to Richie’s chest in a hug. Richie a huffs a small laugh and strokes his fingers over Eddie’s hair affectionately, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Eddie’s head that makes his stomach flip pleasantly. “Yeah,” he says quietly into Richie’s shirt, “Tell ‘em whatever you want, it’s okay.”

            “Okay,” Richie agrees just as quietly and then he does. They move to a table and settle in so Richie can tell them _everything_. Eddie doesn’t say much throughout, correcting small things or filling in details Richie didn’t know, letting Richie explain to his friends while he demolishes an entire basket of chicken fingers and fries that he follows up with another basket of fries. Stan makes a face when Richie talks with his mouth full but based on his silence on the matter, Eddie wonders how much Richie has been eating since they last saw each other.

            Eddie learns a lot about what Richie had been feeling and it’s an eye opener. Every moment he’d felt insecure, certain that Richie didn’t feel the same way or didn’t care, were completely wiped away. He gets why Richie called him an idiot. He goes bright red when Richie reaches their last meeting and appreciates when he skims over the details, something he’s sure isn’t common for Richie, but shame settles in his gut as Richie describes how devastated he was when Eddie ran out. Eddie squeezes Richie’s hand fiercely where their hands are resting on Richie’s leg.

            “God, seeing him here with you guys…,” Richie shakes his head with a strained laugh, “I thought I was dreaming…, what are the fucking chances?” Richie looks at Eddie now, “What were you doing here with them anyway?”

            Eddie glances over at Beverly and Ben who give him soft encouraging smiles, he takes a deep steadying breath, and explains his mother yelling and the subsequent anxiety attack in the CVS and Beverly and Ben coming to the rescue.

            Richie looks at Ben and Beverly with pride and love in his eyes, “Fuck, I owe you guys like a thousand orgasms,” Richie says, voice tight with emotion. Ben goes pink while Beverly throws her head back and laughs. Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks Richie’s shoulder with amusement in his eyes.

             “How do we know you won’t run away again?” Stan’s sharp tone cuts through the lightened mood. Bill and Mike frown at their boyfriend, but he ignores them. “How do we know you won’t leave us to pick up the pieces, _again_?”

            “ _Stan_ ,” Richie snaps, but Eddie squeezes his hand and looks at Stan without shying away from his accusatory gaze. He’s not sure he’d be so bold if he hadn’t had the chance to get to know him a little first. He knows Stan is just scared for his friend.

            “I have _no_ idea what I’m doing or what to expect and I’m sure there will be a lot that we’ll have to deal with that’s going to absolutely _suck_ ,” Eddie says, “But I am _never_ running away again… I’ll prove myself to you, _all_ of you.” He meets Richie’s eyes pointedly. Richie leans in and knocks their foreheads together.

            Richie pulls away and faces Stan, “I want to bring him home with me,” he tells Stan, who stares back, expression unreadable. They’re doing that silent communication thing which is apparently just a common ability in this friend group. Stan sighs, crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, and crosses his legs.

            “Fine,” Stan agrees, “I expect to find it immaculate when I return tomorrow.” Richie grins brightly.

            “I’ll even leave a chocolate on your pillow, Stan the Man,” Richie replies.

            “If you go near my room I will end you,” Stan threatens flatly.

            “Aawww, but I could give that little friend in your bedside table a real nice shine,” he says, circling his hand around his glass of water and pumping his hand up and down in a lewd gesture. Stan’s expression doesn’t change but Eddie’s heart jumps and heat rises to his cheeks, his eyes snap away from Richie’s hand and focus on his lap. Beverly snorts while the other boys snicker.

            “I don’t know why you two are laughing,” Stan says without taking his eyes off Richie, “He’s talking about your competition and right now Benedick is winning.” Bill nearly chokes on his beer. Ben has his arms crossed on his legs with his face buried in them, failing to stifle his wheezing laughter while Beverly thumps him on the back with her fist and laughs into his shoulder. Mike just looks amused. Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth to keep down the giggles, but they burst through his fingers. Richie grins and stands, putting a few bills on the table.

            “Enjoy your dog house,” Richie says, winking at Bill and Mike mischievously. Bill flicks him off. Eddie digs through his wallet but Richie stops his hands, “Don’t worry about it.” Eddie frowns and opens his mouth to argue, “I’m going to prove it was all real even if that means getting you back every cent you gave me.” Eddie wants to argue that logic but his heart is stuck in his throat. Richie smiles at him gently and gives his hand a tug until Eddie stands. Richie goes around the table, hugging each of his friends as he goes, even Bill who pinches Richie’s side and Stan who stands and hugs him tight.

            “Please go take a fucking shower and change your shirt,” Stan mumbles into Richie’s ear before releasing him.

            “Love you too,” Richie mumbles back before returning to Eddie’s side. Eddie gives an awkward wave at the table but before they can leave, Beverly walks up to him and hugs him tightly. Eddie freezes up in a moment of surprise but hugs her back fiercely.

            “Thank you,” Eddie tells her quietly. She squeezes him a little tighter before releasing him. Richie takes his hand and leads him back outside.

            The two walk in companionable silence. Eddie keeps finding himself glancing down at their clasped fingers, pleasant warmth filling him and shooing away some of the chill. But Richie must notice the way Eddie shivers when a gust of wind blows through because he suddenly lets go of Eddie’s hand and wraps a secure arm around Eddie’s shoulders, holding him close, rubbing warmth into his upper arm. Eddie grins, wrapping his arm around Richie’s waist, taking a moment to appreciate how well they fit together.

            “You really do need a shower,” Eddie says with a teasing grin.

            “Ditto,” Richie replies with a shrug. Eddie can only grimace and nod without argument. Richie goes silent for a moment but Eddie is sure he’s thinking about something. “We should… talk, right?”

            “Is it… bad that I don’t want to?” Eddie asks, pulling at his lower lip nervously, “Not never, just… not right now.” Richie nods in agreement.

            “Nah, I understand.” They enjoy their short walk, leaning into one another with only some difficulty, before arriving at a small apartment building that… frankly doesn’t look great. It’s a bit run down and there’s vines crawling up the side, but just the idea of independence sends his heart racing with the possibilities.

            “Oh shit!” Eddie cries suddenly while Richie has his key half way to the lock. He looks at Eddie wide eyed, finding Eddie scrambling for his cell phone and nearly hyperventilating.

            “Eds, what’s the matter?” Richie asks, turning to him, worry in his eyes.

            “My mom-,” Eddie takes a wheezy breath, “I haven’t- I- I turned my phone off, she’s- she must be _freaking out_!” He holds the home button down on his phone until the phone’s logo pops up. Immediately, notification after notification labeled ‘Mama’ appears on the screen, and Eddie lets out a pathetic whimper. Richie reaches over and carefully covers the screen. Eddie’s head jerks up, his eyes beginning to get blurry and watery.

            “ _Relax_ ,” Richie tells him softly, “She’s already going to be upset, there’s no point in freaking out now.” Eddie doesn’t appear very soothed by his words. Richie sighs and turns back to the door, quickly unlocking the creaky door, and pushing it open. He leads Eddie inside and manhandles him onto the couch where Eddie continues to stare, transfixed, at his phone, looking over the text messages that range from guilt tripping and apologetic to enraged and back to sad with some worry before doubling down on rage.

            Eddie has never done… _anything_ like this. Even when he’d go to see Richie, he’d wait until his mother had her weekly Book Club, a poor disguise for a gossip circle, but Eddie just disappeared this time. He imagines talking to her, imagines what he would say, but he knows it wouldn’t mean anything because she’d just yell over him. He takes a deep wheezing breath.

            Richie returns to him and sits on the edge of a clean wooden coffee table, carefully pulling the phone from his hands and replacing it with a glass of ice water. “Eddie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asks carefully, pushing the glass insistently towards Eddie’s face until he starts taking small sips. Eddie hesitantly nods, tearing his eyes away from the phone. “Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Richie starts, sliding his finger over one of the messages and typing in Eddie’s passcode without needing to ask for it, “I’m going to tell her you’re staying with a friend and you’re safe and that you’re turning your phone off and you’ll talk tomorrow.” Eddie jolts, nearly dropping his glass.

            “I- I can’t, Sh- she’ll fucking kill me,” Eddie gets out through quivering lips, “She’ll call the cops or something!”

            “She’s going to be pissed anyways,” Richie tells him again in a careful even tone while he types the message, never breaking eye contact with Eddie, “There’s no point in thinking about it now, and somehow I don’t think the cops are going to come looking for her 22 year old adult son after less than 24 hours.” He hands the phone back, placing the water aside, revealing the message he’s written out without sending. Eddie chews on his lip, rereading the message over and over, his thumb hovering over the send button. Richie’s hand suddenly covers the back of his, letting the tip of Richie’s thumb rest over his smaller one. Eddie looks up, staring at Richie with wide eyes while Richie stares back, brows folded and eyes searching. Eddie takes a shallow breath and nods quickly and a little manic. Richie nods back and presses down on Eddie’s thumb, sending the message for him.

            The response is almost immediate, the phone ringing in Eddie’s hand with an image of his mother’s smiling face popping up. Eddie jerks and Richie takes the phone from him, ignoring the call and turning the phone off. He sets it aside while Eddie shakes, folding his fingers over and over and over each other anxiously. Richie reaches over and takes his hands, pulling them apart and presses a soft kiss on the back of each hand.

            “Eddie-baby, you’re okay,” Richie tells him. Eddie stares back at him, taking slow deliberate, in-and-out breaths. Once Eddie has steadied himself, he slides his hands free and settles them on Richie’s wrists, gliding his thumbs over the thin skin of Richie’s wrists. Richie watches all of this with soft eyes. “Drink up, okay?” Richie asks, watching Eddie closely. Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off his own movements and nods without complaint. “Then you can shower and I’ll lend you some clothes.” Eddie’s fingers still and he meets Richie’s eyes.

            “Can… can we shower together?” he asks hesitantly. Richie blinks at him, his glasses magnifying his disbelief. Eddie huffs a laugh at the image, reaching over and touching the edge of the frames. “I really like these.” He watches with interest as the red rise to Richie’s cheeks. Richie coughs into his fist before scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “We don’t have to,” Eddie reassures, taking his hand away. He picks up the glass, sipping at it again.

            “N-no I want to,” Richie assures quickly, pushing at the center of his glasses so that they’re perched higher on his nose, Eddie finds it insanely endearing. “It’s just… I haven’t…,” Richie mumbles, clearly searching for the right words, “I haven’t been _with_ anyone since and I might… y’know… pop a chub.” Eddie nearly chokes on his water. He snickers even while his cheeks flame red.

            “Eloquent,” Eddie teases, wiping at the water droplets on his chin with the back of his hand. Richie grins.

            “You know me, Richie ‘Eloquent as fuck’ Tozier,” Richie replies. Eddie laughs setting the half-drunk glass aside while his eyes finally have the chance to wander. Despite the exterior of the building, the inside is incredibly well maintained and clean with furniture that doesn’t quite match but is still pleasing to the eye. The placement of the furniture is purposeful and thought out and there are photos of Richie’s friends in various combos ranging from a young age to now. The frames match the furniture in that they don’t appear to match each other but have been placed in a way that makes it feel purposeful. It’s nothing like what Eddie imagined. The only things that truly stand out as RICHIE are the game system and the framed comedy special posters hanging near the TV.

            “Stan,” Richie says as way of explanation, “He got really into thrifting and making shit look brand new and he and Mike got pretty into interior decorating and shit, but don’t you worry, my room is all Richie.”

            “I’m shaking in my boots,” Eddie replies while still taking in the sights. Richie laughs and stands, picking up the glass to bring to the kitchen. Eddie stands and follows him, noting the different joke mugs in obnoxious colors neatly organized on a little stand on the counter. Richie smiles, takes his hand, and leads him to a door that is undeniably Richie’s. It’s _covered_ in multiple stickers, pictures, and weird little cut outs. Richie starts to open the door but abruptly slams it.

            “Uh…, give me one minute,” he says, holding his index finger in front of Eddie’s face. He frowns in confusion. Richie slips through a crack he makes in the door before shutting it in Eddie’s face. He wants to focus on the details of Richie’s door, but he only really catches sight of a Polaroid of Richie and Bill before the sounds in the room catch his attention. He cracks the door open quietly and peeks in. Richie is scrambling around, throwing dirty clothes that are on his floor in the hamper while simultaneously trying to make his bed with the linens that are sitting folded on the edge of his bare mattress. Eddie silently closes the door with a small laugh and waits patiently.

            Only a moment later, Richie is wrenching the door open looking sweaty, disheveled, and slightly out of breath. There’s something sort of amazing about seeing Richie being the nervous one. Richie grins and steps aside, “Welcome to Casa De Tozier,” he welcomes. Eddie steps in and immediately starts to look around.

            The room is a stark contrast to the living room, he can see peeks of the bland gray paint that matches the rest of the apartment but it’s mostly hidden by posters and pictures haphazardly taped to the walls. There are a few shelves covered in figurines and interesting little knickknacks. The main source of lighting is fairy lights that have been carefully hung around the room and gave it a pretty soft glow. It’s a strange combination but it gives the room a comfortable feel. The main focal point is the queen sized bed that takes up most of the small space. It’s been shoved into the corner of the room, a soft looking green throw blanket with a big marijuana leaf in the center of it carefully draped over it, and Eddie really wants to throw himself on it. Opposite the bed is a small desk holding a large older looking computer screen along with a microphone and a keyboard. There’s not much floor space, but rather than being claustrophobic, it’s cozy, except for the thick fresh overlay of Febreze.

            Eddie finally drags his eyes away from the scenery to look at Richie who has been unusually quiet and finds him standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest while he pretends not to be nervous. Eddie smiles and walks up to him, gently pushing at Richie’s arms until he uncrosses them so that Eddie can wrap his arms around Richie and press his cheek to Richie’s shoulder.

            “I like it a lot,” Eddie tells him honestly, rubbing Richie’s back in slow circles. Richie’s arms come up around him while Eddie hums contentedly and sways them side to side gently. Richie chuckles and kisses the top of Eddie’s head.

            “Come on,” Richie says, pulling away and guiding Eddie to a door beside the desk that leads to a small bathroom holding a cramped sink covered in carefully organized hair products, 2 toothbrushes, and a retainer case, alongside a sparkling clean white toilet, across from an average looking bathtub with a shower head attached to the wall. Across from the door they came through there’s another open door that reveals a glimpse of the bottom of a meticulously made bed with fluffy white sheets that Eddie can only assume belongs to Stan. Richie closes the door behind them then walks across to close the other door. He digs out a fluffy white towel from under the sink and what appears to be a thin beach towel with Steve Urkel’s face on it. Eddie coughs to cover his laugh, but Richie simply waggles his brows at Eddie.

            “Don’t pretend Urkel doesn’t get you going,” Richie teases, placing the towels on the counter, “I know you’re all about the brainy types.”

            “Then what the hell am I doing _here_?” Eddie shoots back with a cheeky grin while Richie goes to the tub to turn the shower on.

            “Yowza! Eds gets off a good one!” Richie crows with a laugh over the white noise of the shower hitting the plastic bottom of the tub. Eddie tosses his head back and laughs. Richie grins and straightens up, peeling off his t-shirt, nearly knocking his glasses off his face in the process. Eddie flushes at the sight but focuses on taking his own shirt off. Eddie is becoming increasingly aware of the oil and grime that’s sticking to his skin and it’s starting to make the embarrassment of Richie seeing him naked seem like nothing. Richie goes for his own belt and pauses. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he suddenly asks.

            “We’ve… seen each other naked before,” Eddie points out.

            “Yeah, _once_ ,” Richie shoots back, “And that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable _now_.” Eddie stares at Richie while he kicks off his shoes and pushes his own pants down his legs, picking them up and folding them over his arm.

            “I want to,” Eddie replies, watching Richie’s eyes drag over the newly exposed skin. When Richie doesn’t continue, he moves into Richie’s space and pushes his hands aside, unbuckling his belt, before undoing his pants. He just watches Eddie through lenses that are slowly fogging up as the water heats. Eddie laughs and reaches for Richie’s glasses, pulling them off. Richie blinks and squints.

            “Oh, wow, you are actually super blind, aren’t you?” Eddie asks with a laugh, setting the frames beside the towels, “How do you shower?”

            “ _Very_ carefully,” Richie replies, pushing his own pants off, slipping out of his shoes as he does, nearly stumbling. Eddie grabs him and straightens him.

            “Oh yeah, real careful,” he teases with a laugh, pushing up on his toes to press a soft kiss to Richie’s lips. Richie grins and leans down, chasing Eddie’s lips but catches the bridge of his nose instead. Eddie laughs and moves out of his space, pushing his boxers off, feeling much more confident with Richie’s vision compromised. Richie does the same without that benefit, but Eddie tries to keep his eyes above the waist. Richie suddenly grins.

            “You taking advantage of my vulnerable state, Eddie-boy?” Richie asks with a lecherous grin, his gaze missing Eddie’s just enough to be noticeable. Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs for good measure, he takes Richie’s hand, guiding him towards the tub, and helping him get in without tripping. The fit is a bit tight but the water pressure is nice and having Richie close settles something in him that’s been fluttering about wildly in his chest for too long. Richie stands under the water and confidently reaches for a bottle of Irish Spring 3-in-1.

            On the shower head hangs a rack containing various hair products specific for curls, a body scrub, a body wash, and some bubble bath. Eddie laughs while Richie lathers up his body and hair with the soap. “You two are total opposites,” Eddie mumbles, “How the hell do you live with each other?” Richie chuckles, tilting his head back under the spray to let the water wash the soap out, distracting Eddie with the long line of his exposed throat.

            “It helps that we’ve known each other forever and I let him have run of the place,” Richie explains, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, and Eddie has the very real urge to reach out and run his fingers over the expanse of wet skin available to him, “But I’m sure there’s a folder somewhere with extensive plans to murder me in my sleep.” Eddie chuckles and gives into the urge, reaching into the spray to let his fingers rest on Richie’s ribs. Richie jerks a bit in surprise but doesn’t push him away. Eddie presses his palm there, splaying his fingers out over Richie’s chest before moving in close, pressing himself to Richie’s front, the water finally dampening his greasy hair. Richie’s breath catches and he slowly lowers his hands from his now clean hair to wrap his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, resting his cheek against the side of Eddie’s head. Eddie smiles and grows pliant in Richie’s hold. Richie reaches up and strokes Eddie’s wet hair. Eddie thinks he might feel something stiff pressing into his hip, but he ignores it.

            “When was the last time you showered?” Richie asks, reaching for the bottle of Irish spring without needing to look.

            “I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie mumbles, rubbing his nose against Richie’s now fresh smelling collar bone.

            “Well I asked first,” Richie shoots back, pouring some soap in his hand before setting the bottle aside and lathering it into Eddie’s hair. Eddie sighs happily, his stomach doing that nice swooping thing Richie always seems to make it do.

            “A few days,” Eddie admits, “It’s… been rough.” Richie nods in agreement, working his fingers through Eddie’s soft locks, occasionally poking Eddie’s ear by mistake.

            “If Stan wasn’t constantly up my ass, I’m not sure I would’ve even changed clothes,” Richie says, “Woulda taken a bone saw to get that shit off me.” Eddie tightens his arms around Richie’s middle, heart aching.

            “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again for his stupidity.

            “Really, Eds, you don’t need to apologize,” Richie reassures him, ducking Eddie’s head carefully under the spray to wash the soap out, “I get it… you weren’t the only one being a dumbass, you were just the only one with any self-preservation skills.” Eddie huffs.

            “The one real trait I have.” Richie scoffs and tilts Eddie’s head back up, hair now clean and soap free.

            “Oh, _bull_ shit,” Richie replies, cupping Eddie’s face, “You’re smart-,” Richie plants a kiss on Eddie’s cheek, nearly poking Eddie in the eye with his nose, “Funny-,” a kiss between Eddie’s thick brows, “Cute-,” a kiss to the same spot, “And a sexy little _fuck_.” He finishes it off with a kiss to Eddie’s top lip. Eddie is gripping Richie’s hips tightly, feeling a little shaken. “Plus, you can put up with _me_ ,” Richie adds with a soft smile, “And that’s a trait very very few people in the world have.”

            “I wouldn’t say ‘put up with’,” Eddie says loosening his grip a little, “I’d say ‘enjoy being with’.” Richie doesn’t seem to be expecting this, probably anticipating a mean quip.

            “Well,” Richie coughs, sounding a little choked, “Then that definitely makes you one of a kind, Eddie Spaghetti.” Eddie once again plasters himself to Richie’s front.

            “I’ve met your friends, Rich, I definitely know that’s not true,” Eddie tell him.

            “Alright, alright,” Richie urges him, sounding more affected than he’s letting on, swapping their positions and pushing the bottle into Eddie’s hands, “I’m getting all pruney, get a move on, cutie.” Richie pushes the curtain open and very carefully steps out, keeping a hand on the wall as he does. Eddie watches him closely as he pours soap into his hand, only relaxing once Richie is out with his face dry and his glasses back on. Eddie moves quickly finishing up his shower, turning off the water, and stepping out of the shower to find Richie, already wrapped in his Urkel towel, with the white towel open and ready for him. Richie sighs dreamily, “You really do make for quite a sight,” he says, obviously running his eyes over Eddie’s form.

            Eddie flushes with a smile and flicks Richie off but steps into his arms. Richie circles his arms around Eddie, wrapping the soft towel around his waist. Eddie can’t seem to get sick of it, being surrounded by Richie’s warmth, but he holds the towel up and moves out of Richie’s space, heading for the door to his room, releasing the thick steam as he does.

            Richie follows after him, quickly grabbing his hair brush off his desk and dragging it through his water heavy curls before taking one of the hair hooks off the handle and tying his thick hair in a short messy pony tail. It’s a good look for him. He heads to the closet that takes up the space on the opposite side of the desk and opens it to reveal, rather than hanging clothes, a dresser that just fits inside. He opens the drawers and starts pulling clothes out for them. He tosses Eddie a pair of pajama pants that misses Eddie by about a foot and a soft t-shirt that strikes Eddie right in the face.

            “unf!” Eddie grunts, shooting a glare at Richie’s back. He grumbles when Richie doesn’t even turn around and focuses on wiping himself down and pulling the pants on passed his navel to compensate for the length and tightens the strings as tight as he can. Richie turns just in time to see Eddie’s new look and snorts.

            “Aw babe, pfft, you match my towel,” he says, trying and failing to keep down his snickers.

            “ _Literally_ , go fuck yourself,” Eddie replies with a huff, pulling on the soft oversized graphic t-shirt. Richie laughs harder and openly, pulling on his own pajama pants. Eddie nearly trips on the long hems spilling over his feet. He plops on the edge of the plush mattress and crosses one leg over his knee, reaching for the hem to fix it. Richie walks up to him and kneels in front of him, knocking his hands away, and folds the fabric up Eddie’s calf with gentle hands. Eddie watches him closely and swallows thickly. Richie does the other leg but his fingers linger on Eddie’s ankle, stroking the soft fuzzy skin there. Eddie reaches for Richie’s hand.

            “HOLY **_FUCK_**!” Richie yells suddenly, jumping to his feet. Eddie jerks his hand back and stares up at Richie with wide frightened eyes, heart hammering in his chest. Richie covers his face with a groan “Fuck, fuck _fuck!_ ”

            “Richie, what’s wrong?!”

            “I’m such a fucking idiot!”

            “Richie!” Eddie yells, standing and grabbing Richie’s wrists, pulling his hands from his face.

            “I never said it _back_ , Eds!” Eddie frowns, tilting his head in confusion.

            “Huh?”

            “I never said _it back_!” Richie cries again.

            “That doesn’t help me!” Eddie cries back with the same level of intensity. Richie groans in frustration, grabbing Eddie’s face and pulling him into a firm kiss. Eddie makes a noise of surprise, not quite melting into it, still deeply concerned. Richie pulls away and stares Eddie right in the eyes.

            “I love you, Eds,” he tells him, voice horribly heartfelt, stroking his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks. “I didn’t say it back, but I love you too.” Eddie forgets how to breathe. He grips Richie’s shoulders and stares up at him, mouth hanging open.

            “ _Oh_.”

            “Is that cool?” Richie asks just as quiet, not breaking whatever bubble has formed around them.

            “Yeah,” Eddie says. Richie grins and knocks their foreheads together.

            “Good.” Eddie grins back, brushing their lips together, cupping his hands over the sides of Richie’s neck.

            “I _really_ love you,” Eddie tells him, sounding surprised by it. Richie chuckles.

            “Me too.” Richie strokes Eddie’s hair from his face, “Let’s go to sleep, Eds.”

            “But then we can’t talk or kiss,” Eddie grumbles.

            “ _Fuck_ , you’re so cute,” Richie sighs, pinching Eddie’s cheek until Eddie slaps his hand. Eddie rolls his eyes and moves away, pulling the blanket back so he can crawls over to the side of the bed closest to the wall, pulling the soft green material over his chilly legs, and turns expectant eyes on Richie.

            Richie doesn’t move, just stares at Eddie with painfully soft eyes.

            “What?” Eddie asks with a nervous laugh, touching his face in search of a spot or an eyelash.

            “You just… look better than I imagined,” Richie replies slowly, appearing lost, eyes taking every detail in. Eddie flushes and sits crisscross, leaning his back against the wall and the soft pillows behind him. Richie shakes himself from his reverie and turns, heading for his computer and shaking the mouse until the computer wakes up, revealing an already open window to Netflix. “Any audience requests?” he asks.

            “Um, Can we put on a Disney movie?” Eddie asks. Richie pauses, grinning down at his keyboard.

            “Aladdin?”

            “Yeah!” Eddie says excitedly. God that sounds _so_ nice. He bites back his excitement, embarrassed by it. Richie fires it up, putting it on full screen and adjusting the volume, before walking over and hopping on the bed with a bounce. Eddie smiles softly at him. Richie smiles, stroking Eddie’s hair back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Eddie grins bigger.

            “Do you need anything?” Richie asks him, “I have a water bottle.” Eddie laughs softly.

            “You’re a surprisingly good host,” he replies, stroking his hand over Richie’s prickly cheek lovingly, “I’m okay.”

            “Hey, I have always been a fantastic host,” Richie replies with a soft chuckle.

            “And I was paying you at the time,” Eddie points out with a cheeky grin.

            “Are we really at the point of joking about that?” Richie asks, sounding mostly curiously.

            “I’ve never been in this situation, so I wouldn’t know,” Eddie replies with a shrug. Richie snorts and presses a kiss to Eddie’s lips. He slides down the bed, flipping onto his side as the movie begins to play. Eddie matches his pose, lying a little further up the bed so he can rest his chin on Richie’s head, giving him a clear view of the screen. He tucks his arm under Richie’s armpit, the long hairs tickling him a little, wrapping it around Richie’s upper chest and tucks the other arm under his head, then throws his leg over Richie’s waist. Richie pulls the blanket further over them and covers Eddie’s hand where it’s resting on his chest, curling their fingers together with a contented sigh, melting into the bed.

            Eddie resists the urge to sing along to Arabian Night. Robin Williams’ voice fills the room, but it’s not all he hears. He isn’t sure if he’s imagining it but then Richie undeniable blows a quiet raspberry along with Robin Williams.

            “ _Ah, still good_ ,” Richie easily follows along, clearly having memorized it, even matching the accent to a T. Eddie’s chest feels abruptly too full and actual tears spring to his eyes. He presses his face to the top of Richie’s head and squeezes his arms and legs even tighter.

            “ _Fuck_ , Richie,” Eddie mumbles, “ _You’re so fucking adorable_.” Richie huffs an embarrassed laugh, squeezing Eddie’s fingers tightly.

            “You’ll get sick of it real quick,” Richie assures him, pulling Eddie’s fingers to his mouth for a kiss before settling it back on his chest. Eddie grins knowingly. He waits for the first song to play, quietly mumbling the words to himself, getting progressively louder when he hears Richie starting to sing along until they’re both loudly singing, “ _Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat! Otherwise we’d get along!_ ” They laugh when they stumble over the faster lyrics. Richie looks over his shoulder for the next part.

            “ _Let’s not get too hasty_ ,” Eddie sings quietly along with Aladdin.

            “ _Still I think he’s rather tasty_ ,” Richie sings back in a hilarious imitation, waggling his brows, and gyrating his shoulder in an alluring way. Eddie laughs and swoops in, kissing Richie as best he can through their laughter. Eddie knows for a fact that he’s never been happier.

            They continue singing along, until about half way through the movie he hears Richie struggling through ‘A Whole New World’ before going silent. Eddie carefully peeks over to find Richie fast asleep. Eddie reaches for Richie’s glasses, slips them from his face, and tucks them between the wall and the pillow for safe keeping. Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Richie’s head, settling against him.

            “I love you, Richie,” he tells the quiet, scratching Richie’s chest gently, turning his attention back to the movie. Richie suddenly turns with a grunt, curling into Eddie’s chest, his arms snaking around Eddie’s waist. Eddie’s arms instinctively adjust, wrapping around Richie’s shoulders, settling his chin back to its place on Richie’s head. Eddie easily moves his scratching to Richie’s back.

            He smiles and quietly mouths along to the songs until he drifts off.


End file.
